We'll Fall Together
by Silver-Raven22
Summary: "What do you want to do?" "I want to run, until I understand." "Then I would run with you." This is a story of facing fears, of healing, of new friends and old ones. This is Dean and Seamus' story. -Deamus multi chapter fic, set post war. Full summary inside.
1. Prologue

**Full summary:  
**_"What do you want to do?"  
__"I want to run, and chase the stars until they tell me why all this happened. Until I understand.__"  
"Forever then."  
"Yes."  
__"Then I would run with you."_

Dean has lost everything. He is alone, and it terrifies him. He runs even with so much following. Seamus tries to help, but he has his own shadows. Is the only way to heal set in the most unlikely of circumstances, the confrontation of enemies? This is a story of facing fears, of healing, of new friends and old ones. This is Dean and Seamus' story.

**Characters:  
**Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan mainly. Hilda Henigen and Carl Wellstar, who are OCs. Scabior (the snatcher) makes an appearance. For the sake of this story I have given him the first name Moran, because his name is never mentioned in the book. Just in-case you'd like to know, I say Henigen with the stress on the second syllable. (He-NIG-en)

**Warnings:  
**Slash, angstiness, sexual situations, mentions of abuse and violence. Don't say I didn't give you a heads up.

**Disclaimer:  
**Dean, Seamus and the world of Harry Potter do not belong to me. Excuse me while I cry about that for a moment. Okay, I'm done. The lyrics at the start are from the song, If This Ship Sinks (I Give In) by Birds Of Tokyo, which I also obviously don't own.

**Some things you should know before reading:  
**_Italics-_ Mark Dean's thoughts, a memory, or a dream. I'm counting on you guys to know the difference.

_Fictum- _is Latin for fiction. I use it as a story break, since I dislike the line-breaks the site provides. I feel they section off the story too much.

This will likely be a long story, Just a warning. I've written quite a few chapters, but I've made a decision not to post them until I'm more or less finished, in case I need to make any drastic changes. Like yesterday, when I moved a whole chapter. Treat this prologue more like a preview, or trailer.

Okay, that's everything. I swear my notes will never be this long again. Enjoy.

* * *

_There'll be no rescue, no finding me. As I become an old memory._

**Prologue**

* * *

Dean's lungs screamed for air and the feet smashing into the pavement started to ache. The formal shoes he wore weren't really made for running. Neither was the stiflingly hot cheap suit. Every muscle in his body was rebelling against him, shaking violently. He didn't stop though.

Few people were on the streets this late at night, but every one of them stared at him curiously. He hated them all. So normal, regular, and _alive. _He hated that they had the luxury of curiosity, when all he had were shadows chasing him. So he kept running, shoving rudely past the people who managed to get in his way. He was beyond caring.

Once, he might have found the streets of London beautiful at night. In another lifetime. Now he didn't care. He just pounded through them, not even knowing where he was going. The shadows started to close in around him, and his legs worked faster. He couldn't escape, they were gaining on him.

Dean stared at the night sky, framed by tall buildings on either side. He only barely saw it though, darkness clouded his vision. He poured out his grief at the stars, all of his hate directed towards them in a scream that seemed like it would never end. His voice was broken and rough, and he yelled until it faded and died in a choked sob.

_~fictum~_

_Dean knew that most of the people standing in rows behind had come simply because they felt obliged to. They wore black because it was the convention, they looked sad because it was rude not to. From behind him somewhere he could hear sniffling, so maybe at least one person actually cared. Why hadn't they just stayed home? He didn't want them there. They made it real. The coffins made it real._

_The words of the muggle priest in front of him seemed muted, faraway somehow. He could barely see, he didn't feel. Silent tears started to pour uninterrupted down his face, but they meant nothing. When he felt someone next to him take his hand, he latched onto the one thing that wasn't distant, but warm, while the rest was numb._

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for taking time out of your day to read this. If you would take even more time and review, I would be grateful. I can't wait to start posting properly.

Much love, Aislinn.


	2. Fight or Flight

**Warnings:  
**None for this chapter. Unless old people scare you.

**Disclaimer:**  
Lyrics from the song Caraphernalia, by Pierce The Veil.

If you pick up the Sesame Street reference, you're awesome.

* * *

_What's so good about picking up the pieces? None of the colours ever light up anymore in this hole._

**Chapter One**

Fight or Flight

* * *

When Dean Thomas opened his eyes, he immediately he knew he was in trouble. He didn't know where he was. The ceiling was unfamiliar. A large chandelier hung from it, catching his attention with its gaudy sparkling crystals. The lumpy red couch he was lying on was strange too, his own was much smoother, and didn't have ragged patched up holes like this one.

Someone had draped a knitted blanket over him during the night, it was colourful and rather scratchy. Dean rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the last traces of sleep. He pushed off the blanket and sat up, taking a good look around. He appeared to have slept in a strangers living room. A muggle probably, judging from the out-of-date television set. He hadn't even realised that his jacket and shoes had been removed, but there they were, his jacket draped over the back of a wooden rocking chair and his shoes lying by the foot.

Suddenly, a loud chirping noise sounded from behind him. He turned to see a bird poking out of a cuckoo clock, loudly informing him that it was nine o'clock.

A needlepoint underneath the clock instructed him to 'love your friends and family, they're the only ones you've got.' Dean wanted to rip it up. He didn't though, thinking it didn't seem very polite considering this person had let him sleep on their couch.

"Ah! You're up!"

An old woman bustled into the room, wearing a blue dress and floral apron. Her grey hair was long, and fell down her back in loose waves. She carried a tray of food, and set it on the coffee table in front of him, before sitting herself in an equally ragged-looking red armchair. She gazed at him expectantly with warm brown eyes.

"Tea?"

Dean just nodded mutely.

"Any sugar, dear?"

"Um y-yes. One, please." Dean's voice sounded coarse, and he hated it. He sounded weak.

The woman passed him the cup, and he drank gratefully. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days. As soon as he finished his tea, a plate of eggs and bacon was shoved before his nose.

"Go on love, don't be shy. You need it, you look thin."

Dean smiled at her in thanks, and began to devour the food, almost scorching his tongue in his haste.

When he finished, he realised the woman was staring at him curiously. Suddenly self-conscious, he put his plate down slowly and looked his hands.

"Um, Mrs-"

"Henigen. But please, call me Hilda," She waved a hand dismissively.

"Right well, Um... What happened?"

"I wondered when you would get to that," Mrs. Henigen smiled kindly. Dean liked her smile, it was comforting. "I'm not sure, really. I just found you out in the alley behind my apartment. I managed to get you to walk in here, but I don't think you had any idea what was going on. Catatonic, that's the word. Lucky thing I'm on the ground floor hmm? You blanked right out as soon as you were on the couch."

Dean twisted his fingers together. He didn't remember much. Just running, and stars. And the shadows.

"Dear?"

Dean looked up and realised he'd been silent for quite a while.

"You seem like you've been through something tough. I won't ask you to tell me anything you don't want to, but could I know your name?"

"I'm Dean Thomas," he told her quietly.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Dean. Come on, have some more food. You look positively bony."

Dean ate more eggs, and Mrs. Henigen fussed over him good-naturedly. She brought him more tea and made a cup for herself, and they made small talk about un-important things. The first thing he noticed while talking with Mrs. Henigen was her smile, which was wide and friendly. She didn't ask Dean any personal questions, for which he was grateful.

"I think I should get going," Dean said when he'd finished a third helping, at Mrs. Henigen's insistence. "I may have overstayed my welcome."

"Oh nonsense love, it's been my pleasure. Now Dean, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave without knowing, do you have somewhere to go?"

When Dean didn't answer she hurried to explain, "I apologise if I make you uncomfortable, but I think you understand why I would be concerned about the young man who'd been alone in a dark alley when I went to let the cat out."

"You have a cat? I haven't seen one."

"She likes to disappear and explore the city sometimes. But that's not the point, you're avoiding the question." She gave him a mock stern look.

"Sorry, Mrs. Henigen-"

"It's Hilda," she cut him off.

" I appreciate your concern, and I can never thank you enough for all you've done for me. I do have a ho- um, somewhere to go." Somehow Dean couldn't bring himself to say 'home.'

"Well all right then. Please do come visit me sometime, we can have dinner. Here's your jacket."

"Thanks Mrs. Henigen," Dean said as he took the jacket and slipped his feet into his shoes.

Mrs. Henigen led him through the small apartment, and Dean noticed that several photos of a handsome young man in an army uniform hung on the wall. Dean was just about to leave when he remembered something.

"Um, Mrs. Henigard, do you know where my, um..."

"Do I know where your wand is?" Mrs. Henigen's eyes twinkled, "It's in the inside pocket of your jacket."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, "how do you know?"

"Ah, that's a story for another time," she answered mysteriously. "You'll just have to come back and visit now, won't you?"

Dean smiled.

"I suppose I will then. Thank you again Mrs. Henigen."

"Really child, I'm not your teacher. You can call me Hilda."

Dean grinned at her, "good bye."

_~fictum~_

Wandering away from Mrs. Henigen's house brought the realisation that the last place he actually wanted to go was back home. So he drifted though muggle London. His suit was wrinkled from being slept in, and a few people gave him curious stares. He probably looked awful. He also didn't care.

It was about mid-afternoon, and the streets were full of people shopping. When he bought a soft pretzel at a stall he went past, the owner wished him a nice day. It was all he could do not to glare at the man. Dean munched on it thoughtfully as he continued to wander.

Eventually Dean came across a small shopping plaza. He made his way to the second hand clothes store, and bought a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from a middle aged woman with lipstick on her teeth. She flashed him a false smile and wished him a good day in an annoyingly chirpy voice, while packing his clothes into an ugly plastic bag.

This time Dean did glare.

He marched out of the store as quickly as possible, and headed to the public toilets at the other end of the plaza. He changed into the clothes and stuffed his suit unceremoniously into the bag. He continued to walk aimlessly through the streets, and soon started shivering in his light t-shirt. He hadn't had enough to buy a coat. He fished his suit jacket from his bag and put it back on, despite how strange it looked with jeans.

The light was already fading from the sky before Dean had decided where he wanted to go. He kept walking, and soon it was completely dark. The shadows started to creep up on him.

Dean sunk to the ground, and dropped his bag of clothes beside him. He buried his head in his hands, curling away from the darkness. He could feel it taking hold again. His breathing started to quicken, his head pounded, and his heart raced. When the ground beneath him somehow started to tilt he held out a hand to steady himself.

Then he heard a thunderous BANG.

_~fictum~_

When Dean looked up, he was blinded by a bright light. His eyes adjusted after a moment, and he realised that it came from the headlights of a huge blue bus. It was stopped in front him with its engine was still running. Puffs of exhaust blew out of the back at regular intervals.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name's Stan Shunpike, I'll be your conductor this evenin'."

"The Knight Bus," Dean whispered. He'd heard of it before, but he'd never seen it for himself.

"Hey, you're Dean Thomas aincha?"

"Um, yes."

"We met, y'know, at Hogwarts. At the battle, I sorta tried to kill you."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now."

"I'm terribly sorry about all that. Imperius'ed I was. Horrible fing bein' all _controlled_.

"It's fine."

"Come on then, come aboard. You got any bags? What just that? Oh well, I'll grab that for ya."

Dean stepped aboard the bus, and saw that there was only one other passenger. A skinny man with wispy blonde hair sat on a bed at the very back. He stared out the window and seemed to have no interest in socialising.

"This is our driver, Bert," Stan motioned towards a man with a dark beard sitting behind the wheel. Strangely, though his beard was full and thick, there was little hair on the man's head. Bert also had a huge belly, and Dean almost wondered at how he managed to reach the steering wheel over it.

"We used to 'ave Ernie as our driver, didn't we Bert? But he retired a few years back, bless 'im."

Dean nodded politely, not really sure who Stan was talking about. Stan went and dropped his plastic bag down onto the nearest bed.

"Where to, Dean?"

"Um... well I suppose, the Leaky Cauldron," Dean decided. "Please," he added.

"Tha'll be eleven sickles then."

Dean fished around in his pockets and handed Stan the money, before going to sit on the bed.

BANG! The bus lurched forward and Dean smacked his head on a railing. He rubbed his head and frowned at Stan Shunpike's sniggering. He looked away from the irritating conductor and found that the buildings flying past were completely different to the ones of moments ago.

"Where are we?"

"Outskirts of London. This'd be Mr. Kale's stop I fink."

Dean briefly wondered why Stan would have to think about whose stop it was with only one other person on the bus, before it staggered to a halt with a loud bang and a puff of exhaust.

"Mr. Kale! This is your stop. Here I'll get your bag, don't worry."

"I'd rather you didn't," said the surly faced man.

Stan took a step back and let the man pass, but not without making an obscene gesture at his back. As soon as Mr. Kale had stepped off, they were off again with another bang, and winding their way through inner London.

Not ten minutes later, a gravelly voice informed him that he, "better wake up, we're nearly there."

Stan rolled his eyes, "don't mind him, he's not very friendly."

The bus rolled to a shaky stop soon afterwards, and Dean grabbed his bag and stood. He thanked Stan and Bert before jumping down to the ground. The bus disappeared with yet another bang.

The Leaky Cauldron was quite busy. But of course it was, Dean had forgotten that it was a Saturday night. Every table was full, and drinks sat on every available surface. There was laughter and chatting coming from all sides, and after the quiet of the streets, the noise was almost unbearable. As Dean tried to get past, a man tripped over him and sloshed Firewhisky over them both.

"Oh, didn't shee you there mate. Shorry 'bout that ," the man's voice was slurred and his gaze unfocussed.

Dean didn't bother to answer, the man was too drunk to care anyway. He walked to the counter and rang the little golden bell. A man who'd been handing out drinks at the bar looked up.

"Hello sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to book a room please. Nothing expensive."

"The cheapest I've got is six galleons."

Dean poured all the money from his pockets to the counter.

"I'm sorry, I um, don't have enough."

"Don't worry about it, lad. No offense, but you look terrible. Let's just get you a room for tonight, and we'll worry about payment in the morning."

"Thank you," Dean said in relief.

The man led him to a small room down a hallway. It wasn't much, consisting primarily of a bed and nightstand. A rickety wardrobe stood in the corner, and off to one side a door led to what was presumably a bathroom.

"It's not much, but it's about the best you can get for six galleons. We're almost booked out tonight anyway, so it's one of the last rooms left."

"No, it's fine. Thank you very much."

"Thomas, isn't it."

He nodded, wondering how on earth he knew him.

"I saw your picture in the paper when, well, I heard what happened. I'm so sorry."

Dean swallowed.

"I'm Tom. Listen, if you need anything just let me know, all right?"He patted Dean on the shoulder. Dean smiled back politely, instantly knowing he wouldn't be staying longer than a night.

Tom left and Dean dropped his bag and headed to the bathroom. It was also pretty basic, just a shower, toilet and hand basin with a slightly cracked mirror on the wall above it. The tiled walls were an ugly green-brown and the faded blue shower curtain had a few mould stains on it, but it would do.

Deciding it was too late for a shower, Dean opted to let the water pour into the sink until it ran hot and then splash it over his face and neck. The warmth was lovely on his skin.

He wiped most of the water off his face, looked up into the mirror, and immediately did a double take. He looked like a different person. His eyes were sunken and their usually warm deep-brown looked faded and murky. The copper skin of his face was thin, and there seemed to be a permanent line between his brows.

He was suddenly overcome with weariness, as if seeing his gaunt face had reminded him of how tired he was. He stumbled back into the bedroom and undressed clumsily before falling into bed. The covers were old, but clean and warm. Moonlight shone through the open curtains. The shadows were just starting to hover on the edge of his consciousness, so he stared at the moon until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

_He was falling. He knew he was falling, he could feel it. But all he could see around himself was blackness. He idly wondered where the ground was. He'd been falling for a while, and he couldn't see it. The air whistled past, and lifted his clothes to swirl around him. His hair was too short and way too curly for the wind to have any effect on it though. A point in the blackness changed colour and lightened. Dean watched it indifferently, as it started to grow. It spread outwards further and further until the world around him was not black but a mottled grey, like mist, but much more solid-looking. Then Dean started to panic. Fear overwhelmed him and his blood ran cold._

_Strong arms took hold of him, and he wasn't falling anymore. He was standing on solid ground, looking out over the ocean. Waves crashed in his ears, though the water was quite calm. He was vaguely aware of a firm hand around his own, sandy hair that swayed in the breeze, a familiar voice._

"_Dean. I'm here."_

"_Stay with me." _

"_You're me best mate. I won't leave you."_

* * *

**Author's notes: **First chapter is up, because I have pretty much finished the fic! I'm on the last chapter, and after that all I have to do is a quick epilogue to wrap things up. I'm super happy, because I've been working on this for months, and it's nice to know I managed to complete it. Especially since I neglected so much homework to write it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

From now on I should post about twice a week. But don't hold me to that, because sometimes my internet likes to die on me.

So long fellow Deamus shippers, see you next time.

-Aislinn.


	3. Lonely Weakness

**Disclaimer:  
**Lyrics from Roadside, by Rise Against

The name of Seamus' owl_ Hilarion,_ is from a character in the ballet_ Giselle._

* * *

_Tell me how I'm supposed to feel, when all these nightmares become real._

**Chapter Two**

Lonely Weakness

* * *

Dean was tugged out of sleep by a loud knocking sound. He tried desperately to hold on to the thread of his dreams; he could still feel the warmth they had brought. Eventually they slipped from his grasp and he had to resign himself to the waking world.

The drumming was still going on, so he sat up and looked around. An owl was rapping at the window with its beak. With a groan he got up and let it in. It immediately swooped in and dropped the letter on his head on its way to circle the room, hooting happily. Dean leant down and picked up the letter. 'Dean Thomas' was scrawled on it in a familiar handwriting.

He watched the owl for a moment, trying to put off reading the letter. It was hopping in place on his bed, eagerly waiting to see if it would get a treat. Dean didn't have any, so none were forthcoming. When the owl realised this, it hooted sadly and flew out of the window, its movements deject.

Dean flopped down on the bed, letter still in hand. He wanted to open it, he did. Because that untidy handwriting was so familiar, so reassuring. That was the problem. He moved his hands and made to rip the letter up, but he just couldn't make himself do it. With a huff of frustration he shoved it under his pillow and stood up. He could decide what to do with it later.

He spent a long time under the shower, letting the hot water unknot his muscles and wash the grime from his hair. When he finally felt clean and fresh, he climbed out and dressed in the muggle jeans he'd bought the day before. They were a bit dirty from when he'd been sitting on the ground, but since his only other option was a wrinkled suit, they'd have to do.

Dean nodded to Tom on the way out of the Leaky Cauldron, and headed into Diagon Alley. The street was full of people carrying bags of magical-wares. Most wandered about casually, looking in this window first, then at that stall next. But Dean walked purposefully, already knowing where he wanted to go.

He entered Gringotts and withdrew all of his money. He didn't have much more than four hundred galleons, but he had more money in a muggle bank account. The grim-faced goblin behind the high counter gave him a contemptuous look when he asked him to change all but fifty galleons to muggle money, but said nothing. It rest totalled about two thousand and eighty pounds, which wasn't too bad.

On the way back to his room, Dean bought a plain looking, but sturdy backpack that was magically extended to be much bigger on the inside than out. The seller informed him that it was not only water proof, but flame repellent and acid resistant. Dean just handed over the money without comment. He stuffed his bags of muggle money into it and kept walking.

Dean went to the counter of the Leaky and rang the little golden bell. Tom came out of a door on the other side of the pub. Dean wondered for a moment how he'd heard the bell, but then he remembered it was probably magic.

"Hello Mr. Thomas, how's your day been?"

"Fine," he replied shortly. "Here's the money I owe you."

"You're not planning to stay another night?"

"No."

"All right then. Technically, since you didn't check out before nine you're supposed to pay for another night, but don't worry, I'll let you off the hook."

"I can pay for it."

"No, no, it's only a couple of hours."

"Really, thank you for your kindness, but I'd rather pay."

Tom sighed a bit. "Well, if you insist."

Dean handed over the coins and went back to his room. He hated how overly kind Tom was being. He knew exactly why he was doing it, and he didn't want the pity.

He grabbed the plastic bag that contained his suit, and stuffed it into his backpack on top of the money. Then he reached under the pillow and slipped the letter into his pocket without looking at it.

Soon he was back on the streets of muggle London. He got on the first bus he saw that headed into the centre of the city, and got off as soon as he saw some stores. He headed to a men's clothing shop that seemed promising.

He bought a bunch of clothes, almost a full wardrobe, complete with a thick coat for winter. If the shop attendant had thought anything of his huge purchase, she hadn't said anything.

Dean turned into an alleyway, stopping only to note that it was empty. He didn't take much note of his surroundings. He stuffed his shopping bags into his backpack and took of his suit jacket. The air was chilly with only a t-shirt, and his hands fumbled as he tried to pull on a sweater as quickly as possible.

He kept walking down the alley, noticing that it was narrow and dim. Surrounded by a multi-story car park on one side, and an office building on the other, the sun was blocked out. Dean loathed it. The walls leaned towards him menacingly, and every shadow seemed to reach towards him. He quickened his pace and with eyes trained resolutely on his shoes, he strode through the alley and didn't look up until sunlight hit his face.

The first thing he noticed was a window. Its panels were painted bright red, and a white door bore the words _Star Supplies_. But what really caught his attention, were the displays of art supplies that filled the window, everything from canvases to paints to carving tools. He couldn't believe the vast selection of colours.

A set of hanging bells set off a high tinkling when Dean opened the door. The store was a treasure trove of art supplies. Everything he could have ever wanted was packed into that little store.

Shelves reached up the walls, and on the bare patches hung paintings and drawings and other pieces of art. Dean's eye was drawn to a large painting of a woman wearing a flowing white dress, half submerged in water.

The dress floated out around her and contrasted in the loveliest way with the deep blues and greens of the river bed. The woman's features were striking; the detail in which she was painted looked like a photograph. The water though, was painted with an ethereal quality, without the detail of the woman, but with more colour, and sparkle. And yet, the water looked so real somehow, that it moved. Dean believed beyond logic, that if he put his hand to the painting, it would come away wet.

"You like that one do you?"

Dean was pulled out of his musings and turned to face a man with a bald head, bushy eyebrows and deep, piercing grey eyes, framed by square glasses. He was slender in a way that made him look almost graceful. Unlike Dean, who hadn't yet lost the awkwardness of his teenage growth spurt, which had left him unusually tall.

"Oh sorry. Um, I guess I've been standing here a while."

"It's okay. I know it's easy to get lost in an artwork, It happens to me all the time."

Dean smiled at the man, "This is a lovely painting."

"Yes, it is. That one is very popular. It's interesting how the artist has done it. She used oil paints to do the woman's face, and towards the edge of her dress it melts into watercolours, which she used to create that washy effect of the water."

"The water is brilliant. I feel like it's moving."

"Funny, most people comment on how she looks so real. You're one of the first to mention the water."

Dean shifted in place, trying to work out whether this was a good thing or not.

"The artist is a lovely girl. She came in here a few years ago, and she's sold me a few pieces over the years. There's another lovely one of this same woman on a beach, up there by the counter," He pointed. "But this one is by far my favourite. The attention to detail, the stunning way she uses her colours, It's absolutely-"

He stopped, "sorry, I've been waffling on again. I tend to do that. The name's Carl Wellstar, is there anything you needed?"

"Um, not really. I just saw the store, and I had to come in."

"Ah, I see. Well, I may be able to help you there. Do you have any art supplies at home? Is there anything you've ever wanted to experiment with?"

"Yes, I do have..." Dean stopped, "um, no. My art supplies are gone."

Westar raised an eyebrow, "gone?"

"Y-yes."

"Okay, so what supplies _did_ you have?"

"Just the basics. Um, a sketchbook, pencils, and some acrylic paints."

"I can get you all of those. And, I think, you'd like to try watercolour. Am I right?""

Dean thought for a moment, "yes, that's a brilliant idea."

"Ah, I knew it. I saw the way you looked at this painting here."

Carl Wellstar led him around the store, pointing out various products, indicating their good qualities and drawbacks. As he talked, remarks about price or popularity faded into stories about customers who'd bought them once. The stories were sometimes long-winded, but Dean didn't mind. They were interesting. He found himself just enjoying the company of someone who knew nothing about him.

When eventually they walked up to the counter, he had in his arms more art supplies than he'd ever owned in his life. More than he'd ever thought he'd own.

Dean pulled out the money from his backpack- after much searching through clothes- and put it on the counter, when a cat jumped up from behind it, and settled next to Wellstar's elbow. It had brown and auburn tabby fur, intelligent golden eyes and thin green collar around its neck. It stared at Dean as though it could see his soul. It was unnerving.

"Is this your cat?"

"Oh, no. Almond here belongs to a friend of mine, who lives just a few streets down. She comes into the shop sometimes."

"Really? Does your friend know she's here?"

"Yes. That's a good story actually. See, my friend, she's not really an artist, but she loves to try new things and such, so she comes into my shop sometimes for little things to play with. Now, Almond once ran right into my shop, on the heels of a customer, chasing a mouse. Ever since she's been keeping my store mouse-free. Although I think she often just comes because she likes all the secluded corners in here.

Anyway, one day, when I was organising some shelves, and Almond was walking up along the top one- I let her do that because she never nocks anything down-and my friend came into the store. She looked up at the cat, and said 'Almond, what are you doing here?' Until then I hadn't known what her name was, so I'd just been calling her 'Cat.' Her owner told me that she often disappears and explores the city, so she'd never been too worried about where she was."

Dean smiled at the long winded answer to his question. He would have been happy with just 'yes' but Carl seemed to like telling him details. He held out a hand to the cat, who sniffed it cautiously, then gracefully stood to move closer to him and twist her tail around his arm. She extended her neck for scratching, and a soft purr sounded when he obliged.

"That's strange," Wellstar frowned. "She isn't usually friendly with strangers. Don't get me wrong, she's not aggressive, she just usually sits back and watches them. If she even comes out of hiding at all. She almost never let's anyone touch her."

"She seems pretty friendly to me."

"As far as I know, the only people she actually likes are her owner and I."

Dean smiled as Almond moved closer to nudge his hand with her head. He stayed and talked with Carl Wellstar for a while longer and golden eyes gave him a plaintive look whenever his fingers absently stopped stroking. Eventually, he had to reluctantly leave. He figured he'd stayed much longer than was strictly necessary for a customer.

_~fictum~_

The streets were cold that night. Dean didn't know where the nearest motel was, so a sheltered alcove was the best he could do. He settled down, wrapping his warm coat around himself. He was still cold, even with it on, his breath came out it misty puffs, so he cast a quick warming charm around himself.

He rummaged in his bag for another sweater to wear over the one he already had on. Instead his hands found the letter. He took it out, just staring. The handwriting was so achingly familiar. Comforting and terrifying. He wanted to read it. But that might bring the shadows back.

Eventually, Dean just ripped it open. A folded sheet of parchment fell into his hand. With a deep breath, he opened it.

{Dean,

Where the hell are you? No-one's seen you for days. By the ministry's standards, you're officially a missing person. I could have asked them to look, you know. But I didn't think you'd appreciate them being involved.

You must be moving around pretty fast, because Hilarion can't find you. The letters keep coming back unopened. Either that or you're dead. You better not be dead.

I am giving you another week, before I get the ministry involved. Because seriously Dean, you just up and leave? Did you even plan it out, take anything with you? I wouldn't be surprised if you just ran off in your suit, and died of hypothermia on the streets. But you're not dead, I know it. So Just answer my letters already.

Dean, Please. I'm worried. I don't know what I'd do if you Just, at least let me know you're safe.

Seamus.}

Dean stared at the letter. He could see the telltale grey tinge of the parchment where Seamus had magically erased words. It seemed he'd eventually got tired of it and just started roughly crossing out entire sentences. The cold of the stone below him spread upwards to his chest.

He needed to see Seamus Finnigan, his best friend, almost as much as he needed to keep breathing. But he couldn't. He couldn't stop running, and let darkness overtake him. He couldn't drag Seamus down with him. A tight ball grew in his throat, and tears fell onto the letter still clutched in his hand.

"Seamus," He whispered.

His shoulders shook. He could feel the shadows on all sides, but he couldn't see them. But then, he never really saw them. He just knew they were there. Creeping up on him until his world went black.

_Dean was sitting with Seamus. The battle had ended, and someone had passed around mugs of hot drink. He sipped his tea, and watched Seamus' face as he told a story about how he'd got one over the Carrows to Neville, Luna and Ginny. He didn't care that he probably looked creepy to the others, he just stared at the face he'd most wanted to see the whole time he'd been in hiding. When Seamus ended his story and Ginny was talking about something else, Seamus turned to him._

"_Are you okay?" He asked quietly. _

"_Yeah. I just, it's all so surreal."_

"_I know."_

"_I missed you, Shay."_

_Seamus just smiled in response, and took his hand under the table._

"_Mr. Thomas?"_

_Dean reluctantly turned to the voice. Professor McGonagall stood before him, her expression grave. _

"_I'd like a private word."_

"_Um, sure," Dean's hand slipped from Seamus's when he stood up to follow McGonagall a little way._

"_Mr. Thomas, I must offer my deepest condolences. It's-"_

"NO, NO, NO! GO AWAY!" Dean yelled, and the memory faded quicker than it had come. Some of the shadows retreated, but many still hovered around the edges of his awareness, just out of reach. His vision blurred and he felt weak. He fell into a restless sleep, filled with nightmares he wouldn't quite remember in the morning.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay so this chapter is a little long/boring, but it's essential to the story. It get's more interesting after this, promise.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.

-Aislinn


	4. Home

**Disclaimer: **Lyrics from the song Buddha for Mary, by 30 Seconds to Mars.

* * *

_A silent song that's in your words, a different taste that's in your mind._

**Chapter Three**

Home

* * *

When Dean awoke, he immediately wanted to go back to sleep. But he was stiff, cold and uncomfortable from the stone he was lying on, so it didn't seem likely. He became aware of a soft mewling, and with a groan, turned over to find the source of the noise. His eyes were fuzzy from sleep, but he could discern that it was still dark. Judging from the faint light seeping into the edges of the sky, Dean guessed it was early morning.

Another mewl came from beside him.

He turned towards it, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand. There sitting by his feet, was Almond. He sat up properly then, and the tabby cat swished her tail at him.

"Almond? What are you doing here?"

Almond just tilted her head at him, and blinked her large golden eyes. He reached out a hand to her, but she danced out of his reach.

Almond just continued to stare at him, and Dean scrubbed roughly at his face. It was time for him to be moving on anyway. He didn't want to be sitting in this alcove when people started to get back on the streets. He stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, but was overcome with a head rush, and had to lean against the wall. He clenched is eyes shut and held his head in his hands.

His head gradually stopped spinning, and he opened his eyes. Almond walked over to him, and pawed delicately at the hem of his jeans, tail swishing, ears twitching. Dean frowned at her.

"What do you want?"

"Meow."

"Well go away then."

Almond padded away a few steps, then stopped, watching him. Dean rolled his eyes at her, and made to walk away in the opposite direction. She quickly circled his legs and stood in front of him, blocking his way. He scowled and tried to sidestep her, but she darted sideways.

"What do you want, you bloody animal?"

Almond gave a faintly offended mewl, and sauntered past to stand behind him. When he didn't move, but kept looking at her in confusion, she dashed forwards to paw lightly at his leg, then hurried backwards. She stood as though waiting for him, and mewled again.

Dean realised she wanted him to follow her.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Meoww."

Dean took that as a yes, and walked forwards to meet her. As soon as he was level with her, Almond scampered off, down the street and around the corner.

"Hey, wait!"

Dean ran down the street, and reaching the corner found Almond waiting for him. When she saw him, she hurried off again. She reached the next corner, and sat waiting for him. Dean followed her through the streets of London for what seemed like forever to someone so tired. He wondered where she was taking him, while also wondering why on earth he was following a cat to God-knows-where.

Eventually, Almond stopped at a tall apartment building, and scratched at a door.

"All right, all right," Called a voice that was vaguely familiar. "You damn cat. I'm coming, don't ruin my door."

The door opened, and Dean was face-to-face with intelligently warm, chocolate brown eyes.

_~fictum~_

"Mrs. Henigen?"

"Hello Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Um, I don't know. I just followed the cat."

Mrs. Henigen reached down to pick her up. "So you've met Almond then?"

"I, well, yes. I met her in that art store. And then she found me and started bugging me, and she led me here."

"The Art store? So you met Carl then?"

"Yes."

Lovely man. A bit talkative, but it's all part of his charm."

"I, um suppose so. So you're the friend of his who owns Almond?"

"Yes, of course. Almond does like his store. Oh dear, I'm being rude. Come in love, come in."

Dean started to protest, but Mrs. Henigen just ushered him in. He didn't have anywhere else to go anyway, so he let himself be pushed into the cosy apartment.

"Come on, I'll make you some tea."

He followed her through the living room and to the kitchen. She put the cat down, who promptly scurried off to some deep-dark corner of the house. Mrs. Henigen flicked a switch on a black electric kettle and bustled over to her cupboards to get cups.

"Grab the milk from the fridge would you dear?"

Dean turned to the fridge, which was covered in colourful magnets. Pinned up right in the middle was a picture of a man in an army uniform and a pretty young woman with flowers in her wavy golden hair. Dean opened the door and handed the milk over.

"Um, Mrs. Henigen?"

"Hilda, dear."

"Who are these people?"

Hilda turned to see him pointing at the photograph. A sad smile crossed her face, "Well, that's my husband and I. When we were young."

"Your husband was in the army?"

"Yes. It's a long story Dean, some other time," she said, handing him his mug of tea.

Dean nodded, respecting her privacy.

"Come, let's go sit in the living room."

Mrs. Henigen let the way, and sat in the red armchair. Dean sat on the raggedly matching couch, just like the last time he'd been there. He couldn't believe it had only been a few days. Every day felt like a lifetime now.

"Mrs. Henigen, there is one story you promised me last time I was here."

"Hmm?"

"How did you know about my wand? Are you a witch?"

Mrs. Henigen grinned at him. "Oh no, love. I am the muggliest muggle of all time, I assure you."

"Then how?"

"Well, when I was a girl, my favourite uncle was a wizard. He used to delight in teaching me all about his world, and I loved hearing about it. I always wished I was magical. None of my other family members ever have been. Dear Uncle Erik was muggle born, and died young, without children."

"He sounds great."

"He was," Mrs. Henigen smiled.

"Did you miss him?"

Hilda raised her eyes to him thoughtfully. "I did, at first. You learn to move on, after a while. I suppose knowing that helped me later on. Not that I'm glad it happened, not at all. It's just a matter of acceptance."

"_No. No it's not true." Dean whispered. _

"_I'm so sorry. I know it's not enough, but you should know that they died a noble death. They died for love, and there is no better way to leave this world."_

"_I DON'T CARE if they died nobly! You're lying to me! Stop it, Stop it, Stop it. It's NOT TRUE. NO!" McGonagall didn't even flinch when he screamed in her face. Dean didn't take note of the people in the hall staring._

_He could see the pain and pity in her eyes, but he took no notice. How could she be so calm? Why would she lie to him like that? When Dean sank to the ground, he immediately felt arms encircling him, and he tried feebly to push them away. It wasn't true, so he didn't need comforting. The arms didn't relent though, and he found himself curling into them. One of his hands roughly pushed nails into his arm, hoping pain would wake him from the twisted nightmare. But a firm hand pulled his away and curled around it, holding, protecting._

"_It's okay professor. I've got him," a moment later Dean heard footsteps leaving, while a voice whispered in his ear, comforting and familiar. _

"_I'm here Dean, I won't leave you mate."_

"Dean? Are you all right dear?"

With a jolt Dean realised he'd been elsewhere for the past few minutes. He was shaking slightly, and a couple of tears ran down his face. He didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded in response.

Mrs. Henigen moved over and sat next to him. A warm hand rested on his shoulder. "You've lost someone close to you."

He didn't know what to say. It wasn't really a question anyway. He didn't even correct Mrs. Henigen's use of the word some_one._

"I know how you feel Dean. It gets better."

"Your uncle?"

"Yes, but not just my uncle."

Dean looked at her. Her face seemed to hold some old sadness. Long departed but never quite forgotten.

"The man you saw in the pictures was my husband. He served and died in World War Two. This year he would have been ninety, had he lived. I never remarried after I lost him."

"You must have loved him."

"Yes. But I was proud of him too. He died for love. Love of his country, love for the people, and for me. There's no better way to go. He was a great man," Hilda smiled. "My father didn't like him much though, because of the twelve year age gap between us. I was so young when we married. He told me once that I might regret it, but I never have. Not for one day."

"You don't even regret letting him go to war?"

"No. I did at first, but if there is anything I regret, it is that I never had the chance to have children. Do you have any regrets?"

"I regret a lot of things," Dean told her.

They sat in silence for a while. He contemplated her words while sipping at his now-cold tea. He had a lot in common with this woman. She understood him.

Eventually it was Dean who broke the quiet. "Mrs. Henigen, do you know where the nearest motel is?"

"You want to stay in a motel? Whatever for?"

"Well you see, I can't- I mean, I don't want to go home. I can't stay there."

"I understand. You didn't go home when you left me two days ago either, did you?"

Dean shook his head.

"I didn't think so. Anyhow, we'll have to make some arrangements tomorrow. I can't have you staying in some seedy hotel."

"Tomorrow?"'

"You're staying here tonight, of course."

"Oh, Mrs. Henigen, I really couldn't!"

"Nonsense. You're staying here."

"Really, you've been so kind, but I couldn't take advantage-"

"Dean. You _are _staying here. Almond led you here for a reason. She's a smart cat."

He sighed in defeat, "Thank you, Mrs. Henigen."

"Hilda."

"Hilda," Dean agreed.

_~fictum~_

The next day was spent looking through muggle newspapers for apartments in the area, with cheap rent.

"What about this one?"

"Hmm, no. Too expensive."

"Okay well, how much do you have?"

"I have about two thousand with me, another few hundred in my bank account, and more than a hundred thousand elsewhere."

"Why on earth do you have two thousand with you?"

"Because I had to convert it from wizarding money."

"Ah, I see. And the hundred thousand?"

"Was left to me." Dean looked down. He had hoped not to use it, but the money he had saved in his account was very little, since he'd had most of it converted to wizarding money.

"Hmm, okay. But I assume you don't want to use much of it, yes?"

"If at all possible."

"Well, there's this place here," she said, circling one. "It's two thousand straight up, then a hundred and thirty each fortnight. But it's very basic, just two rooms. I assume the bedroom and living area are one. And the other would be your bathroom. Ah, yes. Look, a fold out couch-bed. It's fully furnished though."

"That's fine. I just need somewhere to sleep. It doesn't have to be fancy."

"Well, fancy is something this place is unlikely to be. But I think you could afford it for a while with the money you have. After that you either have to live off what was left to you, or get a part time job."

Dean nodded. He'd already surmised as much.

"Oh, look at the address. Only a few blocks from here. Shall I call the number?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

Hilda ripped the page out of the news paper and went to the phone, which hung on the wall next to the doorway. She leant there, facing away from Dean and towards the little table in front of her, on which she had placed the page. Today Hilda was wearing a shirt with a pattern of roses on it, and a long, flowing grey skirt, under which peeped her fluffy pink slippers. Dean had to stifle a laugh. It looked rather odd, but he supposed he would do the same thing if he owned a pair of slippers. He resolved to buy some as soon as possible. She walked into the next room when she started talking, and Dean suspected Hilda was like him, a compulsive pacer while on the phone.

Out of nowhere, a familiar looking spotted owl flew in through Hilda's open window. It hooted happily and dropped a letter in Dean's lap, coming to rest on his shoulder. Hilda was busy on the phone in the next room, and didn't hear a thing.

"Hilarion?"

The owl tilted its head happily. From somewhere at the back of the room Almond hissed at the bird. Dean grinned and looked at the letter. Once again, a very familiar handwriting was scrawled on the envelope in the shape of his name. Once again, Dean knew who it was from, and he didn't know what to do with it.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any treats this time either. I'll get some soon."

Hilarion's head dropped, and he pushed off Dean's shoulder to fly back out the window.

This time, Dean decided to just get it over with. He roughly ripped open the envelope and pulled out the parchment.

{Dean,

I know you got my last letter. Hilarion came back extremely pleased with himself and completely empty handed. Clawed. Whatever.

I am so mad at you. Thanks for the reply mate. You're making me really, really worried. And that's making me really, really mad.

Look, I know you've had it tough, and I know you're running from it. But why are you running from me too? Let me help you.

Reply or else,

Seamus.}

"Good news Dean," Hilda called, bustling over. "Apparently we can come and see it today!"

"Really? That's great."

"Where did you get that?" Hilda asked, looking at the letter in his hands.

"An owl just came in and dropped it off for me."

"Oh no, I missed it!" She sounded genuinely disappointed, "I used to love the owls that delivered letters to my uncle. I wanted one, but my parents said no."

"Hmm," Dean said absently.

"Who is it from?"

"A friend. He says he wants to know where I am. He's worried."

"You didn't tell anyone you were leaving?"

Dean shook his head.

"Well, of course he's worried. How long has it been?"

"Six days. Hilda?"

"Yes dear?"

"What should I do?"

"Well, for a start, you should mail him back. At least let him know you're not dead. You can decide if you want to tell him where you are later, when you actually have a place to live."

"Okay."

Hilda found him a piece of paper, and he quickly jotted down a reply.

"We're walking to the apartment, right?"

"Yes, I don't own a car."

"Okay. I can mail this on the way. I know a muggle post office that also does wizarding mail."

"Really? That's interesting. Is it disguised?"

"Well, they actually do the muggle mail as well; they just have a secret wizarding service."

Hilda looked fascinated by this. Dean supposed she was enjoying being around a magical person again. He grabbed his backpack and carefully placed Seamus's letter and his reply in it, and they set off.

_~fictum~_

The apartment was lovely. A pretty young woman named Sara Farlie had met them at the door and shown them around, and both Dean and Hilda had instantly loved it. It was rather small, but it was furnished just right, so that it seemed to have plenty of space. Even when they'd folded out the couch-bed, it still had room to move around it. The kitchen appliances were a little outdated perhaps, but Dean didn't mind, as long as they worked. And even if they didn't, he had magic. There was even a fuzzy little television set pushed into one corner.

In a word, it was cosy. And it was exactly what Dean needed. In fact, he moved in that very night. He'd had everything in his backpack, which he had with him. Hilda stayed for a few hours, but went home with plenty of time to walk while it was still light. Dean had offered to walk her home, but she waved him off, insisting that he needed time to settle into him new place.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Okay, so this chapter is a little boring. Don't worry, the next one gets better. I'm sorry for writing so much of Hilda, but only a little sorry. I kind of love her.

Ciao for now

-Aislinn


	5. Of Fears and Saviours

**Disclaimer: **Lyrics from We Are the Waiting, by Green Day

I decided to upload two chapters today. I don't know why, but I hope you take advantage and enjoy this anyway.

* * *

_This dirty town is burning down in my dreams. Lost and found, city bound in my dreams._

**Chapter Four**

Of Fears and Saviours

* * *

The next few weeks passed pretty quickly for Dean. He spent his time looking everywhere he could for casual work, painting and spending time with Hilda, who had become a fast friend. He still had nightmares, and the shadows still hovered around him at times, but it was manageable. He poured out his emotions into art. And it helped, in some small way.

He had a lot of trouble finding even a casual job, since he had no proof of education, having gone to a wizarding school. He searched for two weeks in vain, and stared to get worried. The money in his account wouldn't last him long, and he still needed to buy basic items such as food and toilet paper. Hilda tried to help out where she could, but Dean didn't like taking advantage of her. He suspected though, that Hilda might need someone to look after just as much as he needed her company.

One night, Dean was sitting in the chair he'd pulled over to the window, painting with his gouache. He was painting the view, which wasn't particularly stunning, but somehow had a coarse beauty that he appreciated. He mixed browns and blacks and the deepest of blues for the sky. He lost himself in the painting and didn't even notice when he started adding flecks of red and a spot of green, and a dark figure in the corner.

The result was a replica of his view, but slightly different. It's rough attraction had been moulded into something darker and more sinister. He realised that it probably reflected his view of the world. It was an unhappy thought. Dean rubbed his face with the back of his hand –his fingers were covered in paint- and stood up. He carefully propped the painting up against the window frame, and washed his hands before going to bed.

_Faces floated before him. One, dark skinned and with the same dark curly hair he had, but much longer. The woman's kind face seemed sad, marred by regret. Next to her floated the face of a man with pale skin and eyes the blue of oceans. His brown hair swayed around his face in an invisible breeze. _

"_We love you," They said together. A tear rolled down the woman's cheek and Dean longer to reach out to her, but he didn't seem to have a body._

_Their faces began to fade, and Dean tried frantically to speak, to tell them not to go. _

_They were replaced with the figure of a young girl. She was small, slender. Pretty like a bird, with skin not quite the dark brown of Dean and the woman, but a milky chocolate. The tight curls of her hair were pulled away in two plaits, tied with innocent white ribbons. Her lips smiled, but her face was sad. Her eyes, which were the impossible blue of the sea, gazed at him with grief and something akin to blame. He was to blame. It was all his fault._

"_We saved you Dean."_

_I didn't want you to, he thought desperately, wishing he could make a sound._

"_Why didn't you save us too?"_

_I didn't know. Forgive me. I love you. Why can't you hear me?_

_The girl reached out a hand to him._

"_You're still the best brother ever."_

Dean woke in a cold sweat, the blankets twisted around him and a single name on his lips.

"CLAIRE!" He screamed. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt. Her name died away in a choked cry.

"I couldn't protect you. I'm so sorry."

His whole body shuddered violently. His hands found his hair, and pulled as hard as he could on the short corkscrew curls. His breaths came fast and ragged. Claire.

He threw the blankets off himself. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Going to the cupboards in his kitchen he pulled out the bottle of wine he'd been saving as a gift for Hilda. He would get her another one later.

Dean drowned himself in the wine, drinking until he could barely stand. But it didn't help much. When he had drained the very last drop, the world span and everything felt a little fuzzy. But he could still feel them. He could still see her face.

His arm snapped forward and then the bottle smashed into the far wall. It was oddly satisfying. Dean picked up the nearest item, a drinking glass, and threw it as well. A deranged grin appeared on his face a few seconds later, when a vase –flowers and all- smashed into the door. He'd almost destroyed his apartment by the time he fell unconscious.

_~fictum~_

"Good morning!" called a voice that was overly cheerful and way, way too loud.

"Hmmrrph," Dean responded. He managed to open his eyes, and immediately shut them again as it made him dizzy. His head pounded. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.

After a while he managed to sit up. A cup was shoved before him.

"Coffee, not tea today. I figured you'd need something stronger." Hilda said. Her words and tone were caring, but he detected a hint of amusement behind it.

He managed to mumble his thanks and took a sip. Immediately he felt a little better. Some of the dryness of his mouth and throat was gone, and the dizziness lessened slightly. Hilda patted him on the back, and he wished with all his heart that he had some hangover potion.

"You made a right mess of this place. Lucky your paintings survived. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about them," Dean swayed a little. "But it can wait until you're more sober."

A few hours later, Dean had managed to change out of his wine-stained shirt and even use magic to clean away much of the mess. Hilda had looked on enviously as he did this. They sat together at Dean's little table, Hilda holding a cup of tea, Dean another even stronger coffee.

"Do you want to tell me why you tried to demolish your apartment last night?"

"Felt good," Dean replied shortly.

"Anything else?"

Dean wanted to say that it was because he hated himself, the world, that apartment. He hated its purpose. He wanted to say that he wished every day that he could go home, but he couldn't. He wished he could destroy the world, but he couldn't, so he'd settled for a few bottles and cups.

"Not anything I'm willing to talk about."

Hilda let out a sigh, "Dean, I understand. But things like this don't make it better. It's good that you're getting your anger out. But the only true cure is acceptance."

"Thank you, but it's not going to happen anytime soon."

"It doesn't have to. Just try not to die of alcohol poisoning in the meantime, all right?"

"Okay."

"Have you had any more letters from your friend?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I haven't told him where I'm staying; just that it's an apartment in the city. He knows I'm alive, and safe."

"That's good."

"Hmm."

"Ah, your paintings! I'd almost forgotten," Hilda said suddenly, loudly.

"Shhhh," Dean held his head. "What about them?"

"Sorry. Well, I was looking at some of your paintings while you were asleep. Especially the one on the windowsill. They're really quite good. I thought that if we talked to Carl Wellstar, we might be able to sell them."

Dean looked up at her quickly, and regretted it instantly as it made his head pound again, "do you really think so?"

"Yes. You're very talented Dean."

"I, um thank you."

"No need to thank me dear, I'm just being honest. Do you have any idea which one to show Carl first?"

Dean knew immediately, "the one on the windowsill."

Hilda nodded, "I like that one too."

They talked for a while longer, before Hilda announced she needed to go.

"I have shopping to do today. It's already nearly lunchtime, and I'll have to walk there."

"Don't you ever get sick of walking everywhere?"

"No. I use public transport as well, of course. But I like walking places, it keeps me fit. And I save money on petrol."

"Smart."

Dean walked Hilda down the street, and promised to see her for lunch in a few days. She took the painting with her, shrunk down to fit in her purse. Dean had set up the spell so that she'd be able to undo it with a simple tap of her hand.

Later that evening, he was heating up a supermarket lasagne in the microwave, not really looking forward to eating it. But he was hungry, and a proper meal took so much longer to cook than the five-minute-pasta. The microwave dinged and he got it out and sat down on the couch with it. It tasted bland and the cheese was quite terrible.

Just then, a large owl flew in through the window he'd left open for the breeze. It landed on his coffee-table-slash-nightstand and ruffled its feathers.

"Hello Hilarion," Dean stroked the now-familiar owl. He idly reflected that he hadn't known this owl while in Hogwarts. Seamus must have bought him after he'd left.

"Stay for a minute, I might send a reply," he told the owl. Hilarion flapped his wings happily, and started moving towards Dean's plate of pasta in a way that was probably meant to be subtle.

"Oh, go on then. I hate it anyway."

This letter was short, only one sentence. But it was even more terrifying than the last four letters he'd received from Seamus, and the one from Neville. They ranted on about how worried they were, begged him to see them. This got straight to the point.

{Dean,

It's been much longer than a week; I'm coming to find you.

Seamus.}

"This is not good," Dean told Hilarion, who ignored him and continued to peck at the lasagne.

Seamus would never find him anyway. He wasn't sitting in the nearest hotel to his old house, or a commonly used wizarding one. As soon as he'd replied to Seamus's letters, he'd ruled out any possibility of the ministry being involved. There was no way.

He scribbled out a quick _Please don't_ on the back of the letter and poked Hilarion until he looked up.

"You've had enough. Take this back to Seamus as quick as you can, okay?"

Hilarion seemed disgruntled at being interrupted before he could finish the rest, but he was willing enough to comply. Dean suspected feeding him had helped. He watched Hilarion fly away, emotions swirling inside him. He wanted Hilarion to deliver the message before Seamus set out. He wanted him to let it go. But at the same time, a small part of him hoped that Seamus would come anyway.

At the back of his mind, one of his most annoyingly truthful voices asked, _if he does turn up, what will I do?_

Dean had no answer.

_~fictum~_

The next day, Dean found a boggart. Somehow he hadn't noticed it moving into his bathroom cabinet. He suspected it might have something to do with the fact that he hardly ever opened the cabinet. But now it was making a distinct rattling that could only possibly be a boggart, because no other creature would want to live in such a small place. He had absolutely no idea what it was doing in his muggle apartment though.

He knew the spell, and though it worked better in numbers, he would have to do it by himself. He took a deep breath and drew his wand, before using it to open the cabinet door.

It wasn't what he was expecting. Rather than the severed hand he'd seen back in third year, Neville Longbottom stumbled out of the cabinet. Blood dripped from a gash in his neck, and his face was pale. Dean watched in shock and horror, as he fell to the floor, apparently dead.

CRACK!

Neville was gone, to be replaced by Luna Lovegood. Her blonde hair was dirty and matted around her head. Her clothes were torn, and there were scratches all over her body. The worst thing though, was her face. Barely recognisable through the blood, there was a huge wound covering her left cheek, and part of her nose was missing. With another CRACK Luna changed into Ginny Weasley, then Lavender Brown. The boggart switched through his friends, all mutilated and bloody, all lifeless. Until it stopped on Seamus Finnigan.

Unlike the others, Seamus was alive. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and his face was turned towards Dean. There were deep cuts like ladders up his arms and legs, and covering his chest. But his face, though covered in blood and dirt, was unharmed, and he stared at Dean almost pleadingly.

Dean gave a loud gasp and realised there were tears streaming down his face. He shuddered violently, and his knees gave way beneath him, so that he fell next to Seamus. But it wasn't Seamus. It was a boggart. Dean steeled himself, gritting his teeth and raising his wand.

"Riddikulus!"

Nothing happened. Well, not what Dean had intended anyway. Instead of turning into something funny, or disappearing altogether, the boggart changed quickly between the faces of his dream from two nights before, seeming unable to choose one, before finally settling on the young girl.

Somehow, he didn't even know why himself, Dean started to laugh. The boggart quickly changed into the dark skinned woman with curly hair and kind eyes. Dean laughed madly again, even as he wept.

"You can't scare me with something that has already happened."

It seemed to be weakened and confused by his laughter, however psychotic it was. In a last ditch attempt, it morphed into a severed hand, which began to crawl on its fingers towards him.

"Riddikulus."

There was another CRACK, and the hand's fingers tangled themselves together and tripped it up. Dean grinned at it maliciously for a moment, before it exploded into wisps of grey smoke, and vanished.

Dean stood up shakily. He went to the basin and washed away the tear tracks down his face. He stared at himself for a while, expression grim, while he worked to slow his breathing, and stop the tremors. When he felt a little better, he left the room and went to find some food. There really wasn't much though, he hadn't gone shopping in a while.

Dean shoved on a coat, deciding that since he didn't want to stay in the apartment alone, this was a perfect time to get groceries. He quickly grabbed some money and his keys, making sure to lock up and turn off all the lights before he left.

When he arrived back, he was tired and his arms hurt. He'd forgotten his extended backpack, so it had been a long walk from the nearest grocery store to his apartment with three bags of food slung over each arm. He walked up the stairs to the door, and fished his keys out of his pocket before noticing that it actually stood a little ajar. He frowned. He knew he'd locked up before he'd left. Surely no-one could have broken in; the window was on the other side from the stairs, and two stories in the air. He didn't think they could have picked a deadbolt lock either.

Dean's eyebrows pulled down even further. He carefully pushed the door open, and stepped in, wary of attack.

"Hello, is anyone here?"

"Hi Dean," replied an irish accent.

* * *

**Author's notes: **So I know that anyone reading this probably hates me for ending this chapter where I did. I suppose you'll just have to keep reading to find out what happens. (insert evil laugh here)

-Aislinn.


	6. Rebuilding

**Warning: **slash._  
_

**Disclaimer:** Lyrics from Fallen, by 30 Seconds to Mars.

* * *

_I am not here. I'm not listening. I'm in my head, and I'm spinning._

**Chapter Five**

Rebuilding

* * *

Seamus sat cross legged on Dean's bed. His back was straight and stiff, his face unreadable, hazel eyes closed off and sandy hair falling around his face in a sort of halo. In his hand was a piece of paper. Dean couldn't think of anything to say, his mouth gaped uselessly and all he could do was stare. He was not prepared for this.

"How did you get in here? The door was locked," Dean said as he dumped the bags unceremoniously on the floor.

Seamus rolled his eyes, "magic, idiot."

He pressed a hand to his face. _Of course. _

"I, um. What are you doing here?"

"What do you think Dean? I haven't seen you in weeks. I thought you were dead before I got this letter," He shook the paper in his hand towards Dean.

"'You don't need to worry about me, I'm safe.' What kind of reply is that anyway?"

"It was the best I could give."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Dean looked away. He moved to the kitchen counter and pulled himself up to sit on top of it, head in hands, still refusing to look at his friend. Emotions warred within him, fear and shame with relief, and intense longing.

"You shouldn't be here."

Seamus stood slowly from the bed, before crumpling the letter in his hands and tossing it across the room. "Well I am now, what do you want to do about it?"

"I want you to leave," Dean said, with more sureness than he felt.

"I'm not gonna to do that."

"Why not?"

"'cause you need me."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement spoken with complete certainty. Because in that moment they both knew it was true, even if Seamus had known first. And Dean hated it.

"You don't have to save me, Shay."

"Maybe. But you still need me here."

"No. Don't tell me what I need. I don't care."

Seamus walked forwards to stand before him, looking into his eyes with something that wasn't pity, but empathy. "I understand. I can help."

"No you don't. You can't."

"Yes, I ca-"

"No!" Dean cut him off, "You do not know and you cannot save me like you think you can! I don't deserve it anyway. They're dead! My family!"

"You think you're the only one?" Seamus asked. There was an awful smile on his face, devoid of any actual joy or humour. "Everybody lost someone. At Hogwarts we were tortured for months by the Carrows. People were killed right in front of me, just as they were for you, and everyone else. It was a war, Dean! It was almost the bloody end of the world!"

"But you didn't lose your family."

"Yes I did!" Seamus lost his cool and started yelling. "I lost you! You were gone for months, I had no news. I really, honestly thought you were dead. And just when I finally got you back, you disappeared again!"

Dean's vision blurred, but he refused to let the tears spill over. He let anger wash over himself, fighting back grief with its fire. Sliding down and roughly pushing past Seamus, he went to sit on the end of his bed, pulling at his hair. A low, involuntary growl escaped his throat. It felt good, so he let out the strangled yell that had been building up in his throat for a while and tugged even harder at his hair.

The next moment gentle but firm hands were pulling his away from his head. They held his tenderly, fingers intertwining and thumbs caressing slowly. A voice called to him softly through the haze of guilt and anger.

"Calm down, Dean, please. I'll help you, it will be okay. I'm here." In that moment, Seamus' accent seemed even more pronounced than usual. It was that detail that had him coming undone, because this was his best friend. They boy he'd known for years, trying with all he had to help.

That moment was so irrefutably_ them_, so symbolic of their relationship, it hit Dean like a tonne of bricks. And though he tried to tell his friend, struggled to say he _didn't need_ help, and it _wouldn't _be okay, all that came out was garbled sobs. His body ached with the force of his anguish and the weeks of stress he hadn't even known he'd been carrying. He was embraced in strong arms, and he couldn't stop himself from sobbing into Seamus' chest. Somewhere, the small part of Dean's mind that wasn't overflowing with pain, hated himself for this display of weakness.

He had no idea how long he sat there, clutched to his best friend's chest, listening to the strong heartbeat. When he finally found the strength to pull away, he saw that there were tear tracks running down his lightly freckled face. Even with puffy eyes and a sad face, Seamus was beautiful. Dean reached out a hand, lingering inches away from touching his cheek and clear blue eyes looked back at him unwaveringly.

Dean snatched his hand back quickly, suddenly afraid. When had he decided that Seamus was beautiful? He stepped back, wide eyed.

"What's wrong? Dean?"

Dean shook his head slowly, "you shouldn't be here."

"Well, I am," Dean could hear the hurt in his voice, though he was obviously trying to hide it.

Dean sighed, refusing to look at his friend.

"What's the problem?"

"I don't know. I'm so confused, Shay."

Seamus started to walk towards him, one arm stretched towards him. Dean knew that if he gave in to the comfort of Seamus' embrace, he would break down again. He couldn't risk it, though he so wanted to.

"Please, don't." His voice came out shakily.

"Why?"

"I just- I have to- "

"Dean, wha-"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Dean stepped away from Seamus rapidly, almost tripping over his shopping bags. He put a hand on the doorknob to steady himself. Before he really knew what he was doing, he had the door open. He was through it and running before Seamus could try to stop him.

"Dean, where are you going? Wait!" he knew the yell came from a few metres behind him, but it seemed to be far away, carried to him on the wind. He kept running, and wondered why it was that he was running from the one thing that could heal him. The thought was an abstract one though, not quite relevant. Like the warnings on clothes not to put them in a dryer, though everyone did.

_~fictum~_

He knew Seamus would find him. It was inevitable. That's why he stopped running, apart from the fact that he just really hated hurting Seamus by doing so. He didn't try to hide, not really. He stood in a sheltered alcove and stared at the sky, waiting. It had already gone dark, and the stars twinkled at him mockingly.

It wasn't long before he felt, rather than saw, Seamus' presence. He didn't look down, but instead reached out and took his hand. They stood silently for a while, faces lit by the moon. It watched over them, and Dean couldn't quite decide whether it was comforting or menacing.

"Why do you run, Dean?"

There was a moment of silence, before Dean answered, his voice barely a whisper, "because as long as I do I can still pretend this isn't real. That it's all just a dream."

"Then I'll join you in that dream."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to. It's not a good dream."

Seamus squeezed his hand tightly for a moment, "you know there's no dream, right?"

Dean took a moment to take in the amount of pain that cut through the Irish accent, pain that wasn't really his to bear. He didn't want that for Seamus.

"I know."

"Then what d'you want to do?"

"I want to run, and chase the stars until they can tell me why all this happened. Until I understand."

"Forever then."

Dean closed his eyes, "If that's what it takes."

"You'd spend your entire life trying to get closure?"

Dean barely had to think about that question. If it was a choice between living with these questions forever, or searching forever and maybe someday finding answers, he knew what he'd choose.

"Yes."

"Then I'd run with you."

"And I wouldn't let you."

"I know."

Dean's eyes opened slowly, as he took that in. He would never let Seamus drown with him, and Seamus knew that, because it worked both ways. Dean would give up everything in a heartbeat if Seamus needed him, and Seamus would try to stop him.

When Dean turned away from the sky that refused him illumination, he saw the tears leaking from hazel eyes. The moisture made them shine and Dean could see their colour more clearly than ever in the moonlight. A mottled mixture of green and brown and even a little blue, that Dean could never hope to recreate with his paints. A thumb brushed over wetness on his cheek, and he realised he was crying too. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

He suddenly felt dizzy, and would have collapsed right there, had Seamus not caught him. It had been a long day. Between the physical weariness of running all through the afternoon and into the evening, and the emotional exhaustion of both the boggart and his confrontation with Seamus, Dean found it hard to stand up. He was glad that Seamus was shorter that him, because it meant that if he let himself drop down a bit, he could lean on his shoulder. It was just a good thing Seamus was strong.

He was barely conscious of the journey back, only of stumbling along half carried by Seamus. Somewhere along the way, his legs stopped moving, but he continued towards the apartment. He didn't really know how that could be. The last thing he was really aware of was being tucked into warm blankets, and a warm body curling in next to him. He thought he felt a soft pressure, vaguely reminiscent of lips, touch his cheek.

Dean's dreams were peaceful that night, the shadows held at bay.

_~fictum~_

Sunlight filtered in through the thin curtain, a particularly bright beam hitting Dean in the face and making it impossible to continue sleeping. He became aware of breathing next to him, and suddenly memories of the day before came rushing back.

Seamus.

Seamus, his best friend, had found him in the middle of muggle London. He didn't even live in London; his family owned a small property just outside of a town a few hours' drive away.

Dean didn't know what to do, so he settled for watching Seamus sleep. His eyelashes fluttered softly, and Dean marvelled at the thick, dark colour. A perfect frame for his eyes, which would make any girl jealous.

Then Seamus opened his eyes. He stared up at Dean groggily, and a small, goofy grin appeared on his lips.

"Morning mate. Why are you staring at me?"

Dean couldn't take it in. There he was, in his apartment, sleeping in his bed, grinning at him like a total idiot. Like he didn't even find any of this situation strange. Dean grabbed him, almost roughly, and hugged him close. He knew he was probably crushing him, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. When Seamus' arms came up around him, he let out a breath he'd unknowingly been holding.

"Not that I don't like hugging you Dean, but you're squashing me a little."

Dean loosened his arms just a little, and buried his face in the warm crook between Seamus's neck and shoulder. Seamus' hand started to trace soothing patterns on his back.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Dean mumbled into Seamus' neck, "I'm just really glad you're still here."

Seamus pressed his lips into Dean's hair by way of answer. They held each other like that for a moment, revelling in each other's presence. Eventually Seamus loosened his arms and gave Dean a nudge.

"I'm hungry, let's get up. 'Sides, your foot's on me leg and it's freezing."

Dean gave a chuckle. A real, proper laugh. The first one in months.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I'm sorry about the fluff. I'll go crawl into my hole now.

-Aislinn.


	7. Undue Liberty

**Warnings: **Slash, sexual situations.

**Disclaimer: **Lyrics from Everchanging, by Rise Against. The idea of the little girl who Dean met comes from Rue (The Hunger Games). I don't own these. Though I would very much like to own Rue.

* * *

_We'll spend another year without direction, full of fear._

**Chapter Six**

Undue Liberty

* * *

It was a fairly average day, as days go. But to Dean it was one of the best he'd had in a long while. Dean cooked them both pancakes, and Seamus watched from a safe distance. They watched muggle detective films together, and Dean painted some more. Seamus would sense when Dean was feeling scared, and take his hand. Dean spent a lot of time just staring at his best friend, reassuring himself that he was there. It helped force the shadows away.

As good as the day was, it couldn't stop the worry gnawing at him. When the sun started to set and his head hurt from anxiety, he turned to Seamus with wide eyes.

"Shay?"

"Hmm?"'

"How long, um, will you stay here?"

"Well, how long d'you want me to?"

"I want you to stay forever, because I'm a little better while you're here. But..."

"Dean? But what?"

"But I also want you to go," he whispered.

There was hurt on Seamus's face when he asked, "why? I thought we were past this."

Dean sighed, hating how he kept hurting Seamus, "because even though I'm okay now, it can't last long. And when I break down again I do not want it to hurt you too."

"You're going to be fine."

"No, I won't."

"You will. I'll make sure of it," Seamus took hold of his chin and tilted it to look down at him. "Look, it's okay to break down sometimes. But it won't destroy you 'cause I won't let it. And even if it does then we can fall together, and isn't that better than falling alone?"

"But I don't want-"

"But I do," Seamus cut him off and pulled him a little closer. "I want to be here. I don't care how hard it is, I will be here forever if you need me. So don't ask me to leave."

"Why?"

Seamus faltered for a moment, for once in his life choking on his words, "'cause you're me best mate, Dean."

Dean had no idea how to respond, so he just took hold of Seamus' hand and whispered, "thank you."

By way of answer Seamus rolled onto his toes and pressed the barest of kisses onto his lips. They only just touched, and the pressure was fleeting, but Dean felt it all the way through himself. When Seamus pulled back, his beautiful eyes were wide and full of questions.

Dean smiled, and the smile that ghosted his lips was one of the most real he'd shown in months. Full of emotions he didn't care to explain. He leaned down and pulled his best mate close, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was utterly desperate, yet gentle, searching. Not stopping to think.

Seamus opened his mouth under his, barely wide enough to let his tongue sweep out and brush his lips. Dean whimpered just a little, and couldn't stop himself from practically attacking Seamus' mouth with his own. Tongues tasted each other frantically, and he struggled to breathe through his nose, not willing to lose contact for even a second. When Seamus bit softly on his lower lip, Dean was completely lost. A combination of hormones, and the fact that is was _Seamus_ pulled him into a world where only they existed.

They tumbled together onto the bed they'd never bothered to fold back. Still touching and holding, but also, despite everything, giggling at one another. Smiling as though this were the most natural thing in the world, regardless of how new it felt. And in a way, it was. They didn't go _all the way_, of course. But they found means to show each other how much they cared, and it was enough.

Dean realised that this was what he needed. He needed Seamus. And not because it was a distraction or because he could temporarily mask the pain. Because it didn't, not really. Under everything, he could feel it, and it gave his time with Seamus a bittersweet quality. But little by little, while Seamus was there he could feel it fading.

_~fictum~_

The bed became home for Seamus and Dean over those few days. They ate on it, watched television, played board games, kissed, and spent a lot of time curled into each other. It was rarely folded back into its couch persona, and they rarely left it, except to use the kitchen or bathroom facilities. They didn't have to, since they could summon anything out of reach.

They talked about all of the things they hadn't had a chance to talk about since Dean had come out of hiding. About how Neville had grown brave, how Luna had shown her tough spirit. Things like where Dean had stayed while on the run, and the people he'd met.

One young girl he would never forget, he'd found her by chance on the outskirts of London. He'd been almost dead of thirst, and had no way of getting water, but the little girl had given him some from her bottle. She'd told him that her parents had been captured. She was cold and hungry and desperate, just like him. But every night without fail, she would look up at the stars and wish upon them that her parents were safe.

"_I wouldn't really mind dying, so long as my mummy and daddy are okay. And as long as it doesn't hurt too much. They know I love them, so it would be okay." _

"_Aren't you afraid?"_

"_Yeah, but everyone's afraid."_

_Dean watched her carefully, as she sat with her knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. She looked up at the sky with a sort of almost-smile. How was it that children always seemed to be so wise? How were they so good at accepting the unacceptable? She had though, completely accepted the fact that she could, and would eventually die. And though she wouldn't give up without a fight, she knew that when the time came it was inevitable, whether in two weeks or eighty years._

_Little blonde plaits swished and bright green eyes faced him, "Don't worry, I'm sure your mum and dad know you love them, too."_

_Dean took in her rosy cheeks covered with a layer of grime, and the dusting of freckles over her nose and forehead which would likely stand out much more if her face was clean. He realised that though they looked almost nothing alike, she reminded him of Claire. _

Dean told Seamus about the girl who wished on stars, and a lump formed in his throat as he recalled seeing her captured, and being unable to do anything.

Some of the conversations they had were much less serious, a greatly needed comic break. Sometimes they could go for hours not speaking a word, but they didn't need to. The silences weren't uncomfortable; there just wasn't anything that needed saying. There were no routines, they didn't plan their days, but fell effortlessly into each other's company, as though they'd never been apart.

When the shadows started to creep back on Dean a little, he wasn't that surprised. They were persistent enough that they couldn't have been held away for long. The nightmares came and everything he saw started to trigger a painful memory, despite all his attempts to banish his old life.

But it wasn't as bad anymore. It was bearable. Because every time he found himself shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, strong, wiry arms would wrap around him and hold him close. And when he wrapped himself around Seamus in return, he had something to hold him afloat.

_~fictum~_

Eggs and Bacon. That was the first thing Dean noticed when he woke, the delicious smell of breakfast. He started to sit up, enticed by the scent, but stopped abruptly. There was no way Seamus had been near cooking equipment, or fire in general, and not blown something up.

"Good morning sleepy head! It's almost ten thirty, time to get up."

That comment would have been fine in and of itself, but it was not Seamus speaking. He sat fully up and turned towards the kitchen. Seamus wasn't there; he was sitting at the little table, newspaper in hand. A smirk played on his face.

"Hilda? What are you doing here?"

"Seamus let me in. We did arrange to meet today, you know. We were going to have lunch."

The old woman grinned at him mischievously, even as she fixed his breakfast for him. Dean groaned. He'd completely forgotten.

"I'm so sorry Hilda, I forgot."

"Yes, I can see that. It seems you've been distracted of late," she nodded her head in Seamus' direction and winked. Dean blushed a little, but ignored it.

"I'll make it up to you."

"Okay, love."

Dean scrambled out of bed, thankful he'd worn a pair of sweatpants. He quickly tugged a t-shirt over his head and sat at the table with Seamus, who smiled at him. Dean couldn't help smiling back. Hilda brought plates piled with eggs and bacon over to them, and dragged over the third chair to sit down.

"Aren't you going to have any Mrs. Henigen?" Seamus asked.

"Oh, no I ate before I came. And honestly, I appreciate you being so polite, but I am not going through this again. It's Hilda."

"Okay."

"Good. You agreed much more quickly than Dean did, he called me Mrs. Henigen for weeks."

Seamus smirked at him, and Dean stuck out his tongue.

"So, you're the friend who sent Dean those letters, am I right?"

"Yep, that'd be me."

"Well, I'm glad Dean has someone watching out for him."

Seamus looked down at his food before replying, "I'm glad too," he told the table. "He deserves it."

Dean stared at Seamus, surprised, but couldn't stop the grin spreading over his face. He took Seamus' hand under the table, who looked up at him with a sweet smile as well. Hilda looked at them curiously, and Dean quickly went back to eating, but he didn't let go of Seamus' hand.

"So how long have you been here Seamus?"

"A few days."

"I see. And you've been living here?"

"Yes."

"And your parents are fine with that?"

Dean looked up curiously, waiting for the answer. He'd wanted to know for a while, but he'd been too scared to ask, in case Seamus decided he'd rather be with his family.

"Well, I'm not sure about _fine_, but they know where I am, and that I won't leave any time soon. Unless Dean wants me to, of course."

Dean frowned, confused, but refrained from asking. He figured it was a conversation for later.

"So, Is Seamus coming with us to lunch?"

"If he wants to," replied Dean, looking at Seamus questioningly.

Seamus nodded, and Hilda smiled, "Good. I hoped so."

Dean finished his food, and got up to take his plate to the sink. Seamus had finished ages ago. It wasn't surprising, he always wolfed down food, and Hilda's was very good. Dean tossed them into the sink carelessly, and started a spell to wash them magically.

Seamus' eyes widened, but Dean nodded reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, she knows."

"So Seamus is a wizard too?"

Dean nodded.

Hilda watched the dishes cleaning themselves. "How unfair. I hate dishes."

Dean grinned. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of fancy wine. A little red ribbon was tied around the neck.

"Here, I got you this."

Hilda smiled warmly at him.

"Dean, you shouldn't have. How much did it cost?"

"Enough. It's to say thank you, for being so wonderful to me. I didn't deserve it, but thank you all the same."

Hilda stood up and wrapped him in a hug.

"Oh Dean, of course you deserve it. Besides, it's been my pleasure. Thank you, this is a lovely gift."

Dean wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin on her hair. The warmth of her arms was so comforting. Seamus smiled softly at him over her shoulder, and Dean thought in that moment, that he wasn't really alone. Maybe he still had a family.

_~fictum~_

They went out to a small cafe' that Hilda knew. Seamus and Hilda got to know one another, and Dean watched them with a huge smile, glad they got along so well. After they'd finished their meal, Seamus went to get them some desert, leaving Dean and Hilda alone at their table. Hilda scooted her chair closer to him and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"He's a nice boy. The accent is adorable."

Dean looked towards where Seamus was casually chatting with someone in the line. When he noticed Dean staring he gave a little wink, which he couldn't help grinning at. He turned back to Hilda and noticed that she'd been watching him carefully, with that thoughtful look she sometimes got.

"You love him, don't you?"

"What? I, um," Dean stuttered.

"It's okay dear, I can tell. I see the way you look at him. Is he your boyfriend?"

"I don't really know, um, what we..."

"You aren't _official _then?" She asked with a grin.

"Well yeah. Wait, this doesn't bother you?"

"Of course not dear, why should it? I'm hardly religious. Besides, I'm not as old fashioned as you might think."

Dean smiled at her gratefully, and she pulled him into a small hug. They broke apart when Seamus reached them with plates of cake and ice-cream. He looked at them curiously as he set them down.

"Enjoy, everybody."

Hilda thanked him cheerfully, and Dean smiled. He ate quietly while the other two talked, grinning occasionally at Seamus' antics, meeting Hilda's eye and ignoring the pointed looks she gave him.

Then, over Seamus's shoulder, he noticed something.

"Excuse me," he muttered, and got up quickly. He walked over to the next table.

"Um, excuse me miss?" a teenager with bright red lips looked up at him from the book she was reading.

"Are you finished with this?" he asked, indicating the newspaper lying beside her finished coffee.

"Oh, of course, take it," she said, smiling.

"Thank you."

He practically staggered back to his table, trying to walk and read at the same time. The front page had a large picture underneath the cover story, and a caption that said 'Dangerous Man Escapes from Prison, for full story turn to page nine.' He dropped into his seat and wasted no time in frantically flipping through the pages, not bothering to notice the strange looks from Hilda and Seamus. He finally found the page, and read through the story quickly, shaking the whole time. A look of shock first crossed his features, followed quickly by barely suppressed rage.

"Dean?" He heard the voice as though from far away.

"Dean, you're getting that in me ice-cream. What's wrong?"

Looking up he saw that the bottom sheet of the paper did indeed have ice-cream on it. He clutched the paper roughly, crumpling it, trying to control his breathing. It took a lot of self control not to just start screaming.

"He escaped."

A faint understanding lit Seamus's eyes, as though he knew where this was going but was hoping he was wrong.

"Who?" Asked Hilda carefully.

Dean took a deep, calming breath. "Moran Scabior. The man who killed my family."

* * *

**Author's notes:** A terrible cliff hanger, I know, I suck. I'm sorry.

While I have the opportunity, I'd like to thank _Deandseamus _for the ton of wonderful reviews. Actually anyone at all who has reviewed this. You are too kind!

Until next time -Aislinn.


	8. Kindred Spirits

**Disclaimer:** Lyrics from A Rush of Blood to The Head, by Coldplay_  
_

**Warning: **sexy times.

* * *

_He said I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war, if you can tell me something worth fighting for._

**Chapter Seven**

Kindred Spirits

* * *

Dean sat on his bed, trying hard not to scream. Seamus was pacing around the room, muttering to himself and Dean could only catch every other word. Things like, "shoulda ... better protection," "... piece of me mind," and "absolutely ... ridiculous."

While Dean appreciated the level of Seamus' concern, it wasn't helping him fight off the panic attack. Hilda was obviously aware of this, and came over from where she'd been standing by the table. She gently placed a hand on Seamus' shoulder, coaxing him into stopping.

Seamus nodded in thanks, before moving quickly to Dean's side and wrapping his arms around him. Dean melted a bit, letting himself be held. The stress and pain of recent weeks washed over him, and together with this latest blow, he felt almost too tired to function. The panic slipped away, to be replaced only by fatigue, and he leaned heavily into Seamus' arms.

Hilda dragged over a chair to sit opposite them, looking worried, cautious, and incredibly sad all at the same time.

"Dean," she started hesitantly, "you don't have to tell me anything. But if you need to talk, I'm sure Seamus and I can help."

He didn't know what to say to the concern in her voice, so he just nodded.

"Dean, what happened to your family?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He clenched his teeth in frustration.

"You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with."

"No, it's okay," he told her, disentangling from Seamus. "You should know."

Seamus seemed to sense that they needed some space, and squeezed Dean's shoulder before getting up. Dean gave him a soft smile as he went over to sit on the kitchen counter.

Sadness filled Hilda's usually warm brown eyes, and she closed them a moment, looking lost. She reached out to put a hand on Dean's knee.

"Your whole family?" She whispered.

"Yes. My mum, stepdad, and my little sister. Well, half sister actually."

"Tell me about them."

Dean took a deep breath. "They were the best people I knew. My mum was so caring, and wonderful. And the most beautiful woman I knew. Paul was amazing. I never thought of him as my stepdad. He was dad to me, and he treated me like his own son." Dean's voice hitched as he tried to continue. "Claire was my best friend. She had a funny way of always knowing what I was thinking, and she was really smart. I tried to be a good big brother, and protect her. It didn't really work out."

"Don't say that, love. It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," tears welled in his eyes.

"No," Hilda said firmly. He could see Seamus glaring at him from across the room. He knew they would just keep protesting, so he dropped it.

"Their funeral was just a few months ago. That's why I ran away. I couldn't go back to their house."

"It's your house too though." Hilda told him quietly.

"I don't want it to be anymore. I just can't seem to sell it."

"Maybe going back there, even if only for a few minutes, might help."

Dean didn't answer. She was probably right, of course. Hilda was always right. But he didn't want to acknowledge that fact, not right then.

"How did they die?"

He was silent for a few moments, wondering where on earth to begin. He could say 'They were murdered by Scabior,' but Hilda already knew that. Eventually, he decided to start from the beginning.

"Um, do you know about the war?"

"Yes. Something like that is hard to miss, even for a muggle like myself."

"Okay, well during the worst part, the Death Eaters, the bad guys, had control of the government. They made a law that said all muggle-born witches or wizards had to be rounded up, and handed out rewards for doing so. Since I'm a muggle-born, I had to go into hiding. I thought it would protect my family from the snatchers. That's what they called people who captured muggle-borns. I didn't tell them where I was going, partly to protect them, partly because I didn't know myself."

"How long were you gone for?"

"Almost a full year," he told her. "While we muggle-borns were gone, those back at Hogwarts were tortured for information, and forced to learn dark magic. Seamus was among those who stood up to them."

Seamus' knuckles turned white as he clenched the bench top. Hilda nodded as though she wasn't really surprised.

"So your family were killed by a... snatcher?"

"Yes."

"Even though they were innocent muggles?"

"They were killed when they couldn't say where I was. Scabior was their leader. After the war he was put in jail, but apparently he's escaped."

"Is he dangerous to the public?"

"Extremely. He wouldn't have been in a muggle newspaper otherwise."

"I see."

"He blames me. I was there, at his trial. He said that if it weren't for me and my family he would have got away with everything. He's insane."

Hilda's features pinched into an expression of worry, "Do you think he'd come after you then?"

"I have no idea."

The tears he'd been holding back spilled over then, and he cried uncontrollably. Within seconds Seamus was at his side, pulling him against his chest and pressing soft kisses into his hair.

"Everything's okay, I'm here," came to him in a faint, singsong murmuring.

Dean clutched himself to Seamus. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed by this display of affection in front of Hilda. He was too tired. He _was_ embarrassed at crying in front of them _again_, but he couldn't stop himself.

When his sobs finally subsided, everything was quiet for a few more moments, until he slowly detached himself from Seamus' arms. He gave Hilda a small, sad smile, who looked back in concern. He took hold of Seamus' hand, and didn't let go.

"This is completely off topic, but I have some good news."

It was fairly obvious that Hilda was trying to lighten the mood, and distract him a bit. He wanted to hug her for it.

"What news?" Seamus asked for him.

"Carl sold your painting, Dean. For quite a bit, too."

"You sold a painting Dean?"

"Apparently," He answered with a croaky voice.

"The customer bought it for almost five hundred pounds, which isn't much, but Carl thinks that if he could look at your other work it might sell for even more."

"Five hundred pounds is not 'not much.' That will pay off what I owe on my rent plus some!"

Hilda grinned, "I know."

"Wow! Dean that's amazing. Me boyfriend is so talented. You should paint me sometime; I bet that would sell for thousands."

Dean chuckled hoarsely and reached over with the hand not holding Seamus's to shove him on the shoulder. Hilda smirked at the pair of them.

"Carl wants to come over sometime to look at you other work. Is that okay with you?"

"Absolutely, tell him he can come anytime he wants."

"Good. Listen, I hate leaving you after such an appalling day, but I need to feed Almond."

"It's fine Hilda. Don't let the poor thing starve to death; I'm quite fond of her."

"I would never, I'm not that terrible. Look after him will you, Seamus?"

"Course."

Hilda pulled him into a tight hug. He held on to her for a few moments, before she pulled back. She gave him the money before she left, and he made sure she didn't forget her wine.

_~fictum~_

"He won't get away with this, you know."

"He just escaped from prison."

"The ministry will find him."

"Like they found Sirius Black?"

"That's different, he was innocent."

"That makes no difference to whether they would find him or not."

"Yeah, but that time it was a good thing they didn't. Maybe the universe was protecting him."

Dean shook his head exasperatedly. Seamus was trying to cheer him up, and he appreciated it, but his reasoning was flawed. He leaned over and kissed him lightly.

"What was that for?"

"For being so good to me."

Seamus smiled back at him, and Dean looked down nervously.

"Hey Seamus?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"huh?"

"You know. That I'm, um... your boyfriend?"

Seamus gasped a little and looked up.

"I wasn't thinking. I mean, I know we haven't discussed it, I just blurted it out. But I do think of you that way of course. Damn me big mouth. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or-"

"Shay," Dean cut off his babbling with a smile.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Dean shoved Seamus down on the bed, clambering on top of him and kissing him roughly. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then Seamus was kissing him back, his arms coming up around him. His hands either side of Seamus' head held his weight, so that Seamus had to stretch his neck up a little to reach him. They smiled into each other's mouths, unable to help themselves, even though it made kissing harder.

One hand slipped from around his neck and found his, fingers intertwining on the bed. Dean left Seamus' mouth to kiss and bite his neck hungrily. Seamus let himself flop down, running his other hand down Dean's back to clutch at his hip, who moaned a little into his neck. Seamus laughed breathlessly.

"Dean."

With a huge amount of effort, Dean stopped and looked down at the boy beneath him.

"What?" He whined.

"Does this mean you want to be my boyfriend?"

Dean leaned down and kissed the tip of Seamus' nose. "Of course it does, you idiot."

"That's good," Seamus breathed.

Dean stared down at his best friend, his boyfriend. The most breathtaking smile he'd ever seen appeared on the boy's face. An adorable dimple emerged on one side, his hazel eyes shone, and there was a faint blush on his freckled cheeks.

"Dean? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're beautiful, Seamus."

When the smile widened even more, and the blush on Seamus' cheeks became more pronounced, Dean couldn't stop himself from leaning down to gently kiss Seamus again. Seamus grinned into the kiss, before grabbing Dean by the shoulders and flipping them both over. He let out a brief, surprised laugh, before lips were once again attacking his.

Dean gasped as cold hands ran their way under his shirt, gently lifting it over his head. He shivered against the cool air and the feel of Seamus' hands on him. Reaching up and pulling off Seamus' shirt in turn, he ran his fingers over the smooth skin, marvelling at how lovely the pale colour was.

A hand snaked lower over his stomach and stopped to hover over the waistband of his pants.

"Is this okay Dean? I mean, d'you want to...?"

Dean lifted himself up onto his elbows to reach Seamus's lips again, pulling away gently after a moment.

"Yes."

After that there wasn't much talking, only broken cries and a few whispered promises of forever.

It wasn't anything like Dean had thought it would be. It was more nervous and more cautious, but still utterly perfect. In those moments they weren't separate people anymore, and Dean wondered how he had ever thought he could survive without Seamus.

Because he really couldn't.

_~fictum~_

Waking up in Seamus' arms may have been the happiest moment of Dean's life. Of course, they had slept in the same bed before; they had been for the last week, but never this close. Never in this sated, naked tangle, with arms draping over each other and Seamus' warm breath on his face. He watched the freckled face twitch slightly in sleep, and smiled at how open and vulnerable he seemed, like he needed shielding. It was nice to feel like the protector for once, rather than the other way around.

Since there was no way Dean could have made himself leave the bed in that moment, he simply nuzzled back into Seamus's neck. His eyes closed slowly, and he tightened his arms around the wonderful boy in his bed, before letting himself sink into sleep again.

That may have been a mistake.

It wasn't a surprise though, really. The nightmares had been absent for days, it couldn't have lasted long. Somewhere in the back of Dean's subconscious he had the vague idea that he'd been running on borrowed peace from Seamus, and it had to run out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So I finished editing the next couple of chapters early, and therefore have decided to upload two chapters tonight. I know, I'm a wonderful person (not really). Although, I will admit it; these chapters are mostly fluff. Regrets: minimal.

-Aislinn.


	9. For Your Love

**Disclaimer: **Lyrics from Circles, by Birds of Tokyo._  
_

**Warning: **more sexy times.

The second chapter in one night. You're welcome.  
No seriously though, enjoy.

* * *

_I'm being followed by my shadow. He's been creeping around, asking where I've been._

**Chapter Eight**

For Your Love

* * *

"Dean! It's okay mate. Everything's fine."

Dean stopped trying to push off the hands on him. A moment ago they'd seemed threatening, now he realised it was just Seamus trying to comfort him. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Seamus," he croaked.

Seamus's eyebrows pulled together as he leaned over Dean on the bed.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." Dean could feel his hands shaking. It didn't stop until Seamus took them between his.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It wasn't the first time he'd had a nightmare since Seamus' arrival. Actually, the times he _hadn't _had nightmares all fell within that time. However, this time was one of the worst, and he suspected his screaming had been particularly violent.

"It was you," he whispered.

"What?"

"You, you were dead. Scabior was there. He just laughed at me, and I couldn't revive you."

"Oh, Dean," Seamus pulled him into his chest, holding him close. "It's okay, I'm fine."

"I know. It was just so real, that's all. It was worse than the boggart."

"Boggart?"

"Yeah. The day you arrived, I fought a boggart. It turned into you, dying on the floor in front of me."

Seamus's eyes were the widest he'd ever seen them when he asked, "Your boggart was me?"

"Is that so hard to believe? The thought of you dying is terrifying."

Seamus's breath hitched a little, and he pressed himself tightly into Dean. He hugged him back, and they stayed like that for a long time, neither willing to let go. Eventually, Dean spoke softly, voicing something that had been on his mind.

"Shay, when Hilda was here yesterday, you said that your parents weren't fine with you being here."

"Hmm?"

"What aren't they fine about? Do you think they want you home?" Dean elaborated.

Seamus sighed and slightly loosened his hold on Dean, so that he didn't have to look him in the eye.

"I had a fight with my parents before I left, so even if I weren't with you, I still don't think I'd go home."

"What about?"

"You."

"What?"

"Look, can we just drop it please?"

If it were anyone else, Dean might have dropped it. He had an aversion to prying into people's personal lives. But this wasn't anyone, this was Seamus, and he looked dejected and Dean needed to fix it. He took Seamus's chin in his hand, turning him so he had to look him in the eye.

"Tell me."

"It was 'cause I was so worried about you, when you ran away," Dean cringed, but Seamus took no notice. "I kept asking me mam if I could go look for you, but she said that you would have other family members and the ministry looking for you before long"

"I don't have any other family"

"I know. That's what I told her."

"That still doesn't explain-"

"I'm gettin' to it. So I didn't want to argue with mam, because she's only just properly forgiven me for going back to Hogwarts when she didn't want me to. But I tried to reason with her a bit, and she was really worried about you too, honest. But she didn't want me going out alone to look for you, not after everything that's happened."

"That's understandable."

"Yeah well, that wasn't what the fight was about. I didn't fight with mam. Me dad kept saying how weird it was that I was so worried about you. He wouldn't listen when I said it was cause you're me best mate."

"Why would that upset him?"

"Well, he sorta saw right through me. Looked me right in the eye and said 'why are you so upset about this Dean? Are you in love with him or something?' and mam got this shocked look, like it all made sense."

"Seamus, I... "

"Yeah well, I turned around and said to him 'maybe I am. Do you have a problem with it?'" Dean couldn't help smiling a bit at that. Seamus smiled back sadly and kissed him.

"So what happened after that?"

"He started raging. Called me all these horrible names, yelled, broke some stuff. He started going on about how he wouldn't have a fucking faggot for a son. Mam sorta tried to defend me, but she gets scared of him when he's like that. Eventually I just left. I sent mam a letter when I found you to let her know we were both safe."

Dean had no idea how to respond. All this time he'd been focussed on himself, his problems, and Seamus needed him just as much.

"Seamus, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. I should never have run away, I was being stupid and selfish. I didn't even think about how it would affect anyone else."

"Dean," Seamus stopped him firmly. "It's not your fault."

He pulled back and looked down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you would blame yourself. Besides, you had enough to deal with, without me adding me burdens."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Shay! You needed me, and you should have talked to me. I know I was a bit of a depressing idiot for a while, but you will always come first in my book."

Seamus bit his lip. "I know."

Dean saw the tears welling in his eyes, and hurried to wrap his arms around him again. He pulled the blankets up to cover them both, shielding them in a world of their own, protecting Seamus from anything that might hurt him.

Seamus shook against his chest with quiet sobs, and Dean felt helpless. Powerless to defeat whatever was hurting the boy in his arms. He wondered if this was how Seamus had felt over the last week, and hated himself a little bit more for being so selfish. Seamus needed him right now, and he was going to do his damn best to be there for him, for once.

"Are you going to talk to your dad?"

"I dunno. I'm tempted to just say no, but he's my dad," Seamus answered through a shaky voice. "Even if he is a bigoted religious prick."

Dean stopped to wind his fingers through Seamus' before answering, "maybe you should just give it some time."

"Yeah, I will."

Seamus was silent for a few seconds, before his face crumbled a bit and he had to hide his face in Dean's shoulder. Fresh tears stained Dean's thin shirt, but he didn't mind at all. When the flow of tears slowed a bit, he lifted Seamus's face to look at him. He gently wiped away the tears with his other hand and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"You should never have to feel this sad again."

"I feel like a total cry-baby."

"You don't think I've felt the same this whole time?"

"That's different, you had a b-"

"Shay, if you're about to say 'a better reason' you can shove it, or I will push you out of this bed."

Seamus grinned at him, but it faded after a moment. "I just can't believe that really happened, you know?"

"Trust me, I know."

The smile Seamus gave him next was so sad, that Dean wished it were possible to reach out and wipe it from his face.

"You're allowed to be upset."

Seamus simply nodded and leaned forward to capture his lips in a long kiss. It slowly faded from comforting into something more passionate. Dean pulled slightly back after a while, and whispered against Seamus's lips.

"I can make you feel good, if you want."

Seamus' breathing stuttered just enough to tell Dean that he'd understood.

"Please let me make you forget?"

Seamus kissed him, and it lingered sweetly.

"Okay."

At that word, Dean quickly began undoing Seamus' buttons, tugging off his sweater and then his shirt as quickly as possible. He nudged Seamus' legs apart to sit between them, kissing a trail down Seamus' neck, then chest, then stomach. Seamus shivered under him, breathing turning heavy. He sucked and bit gently at the sensitive spots on Seamus' hip and collar bones, determined to mark him, claim him.

He made his way down to the waistband of Seamus's trousers, undoing the tie that held up his sweatpants. Seamus let out a shaky breath and stroked Dean's lips with his thumb.

"Do you want me to...?"

"No, this is about you."

Even as he said it, Dean knew it wasn't quite true. Sure, this was about making Seamus feel good, but it was also about believing that he could be useful to Seamus in some way. He wasn't just being baby-sat. He needed this as much as Seamus did. Those three words weren't quite said to each other, but they hung over them both. And they both knew it, without it really needing to be said.

_~fictum~_

Afterwards, while Dean was in the shower, he heard the phone ring. He tried to quickly get out to answer it, before Seamus' footsteps padded from the bed towards it. He got back in with a smile. Somehow the simple act of answering the phone for him made it seem even more like Seamus was staying for a while.

A minute later, a sandy haired head popped in around the door.

"Is it all right to go round to Hilda's later? She's having Carl over."

"Well it's not like I've got anything better to do."

Seamus rolled his eyes and relayed his answer back to Hilda, who was presumably the person on the other line.

"Okay we're going at four."

"What's the time now?"

"One. Bring a few of your favourite paintings."

"Will do mum. Can I finish my shower now?"

"Sure pumpkin."

Dean could faintly hear Hilda's laughter coming from the phone, and shook his head exasperatedly. He finished up quickly and stepped out of the bathroom dripping and naked.

"Put some clothes on, before you kill me, Thomas."

"You like what you see?" Dean smirked at him.

"Too much. We have to be at Hilda's in a couple of hours, I can't afford sexy thoughts right now."

Dean grinned mischievously and walked over quickly to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Seamus responded for a moment, before pushing him back with a groan.

"Go put pants on!"

Dean laughed, but did as he was told.

_~fictum~_

They walked to Hilda's in relative silence, hand in hand. Every now and then one of them would look up and smile at the other. Dean liked watching the slight breeze play with Seamus' sandy hair, pushing it into his eyes. Seamus noticed him watching and laughed.

"That's really annoying, you know. I wish I had hair like yours, you don't have to worry about the wind."

"Well maybe you should just get a haircut."

Seamus grinned. "You'd miss it. You wouldn't be able to survive without my gorgeous hair to look at and play with."

Dean just rolled his eyes, not deigning to respond.

They reached Hilda's apartment and knocked on the door, while Almond stared at them from where she sat in the window. Hilda opened the door for them with a smile.

"Hello, dears. How has your day been?"

"Fine, thank you Hilda," Dean answered while Seamus tried to hide a smirk.

"Come in, come in. I've put a pot of tea on. Carl's waiting in the living room."

They followed her through the hallway, and Almond stuck her head out from behind the curtains. She followed them gracefully, and jumped lightly onto Dean's lap as soon as he sat down on the red sofa next to Seamus. He stroked her absent-mindedly.

Carl sat on the wooden rocking chair, an open book sitting on his lap. When he noticed them enter the room he put it aside quickly.

"How nice to see you again Dean."

"You too, Mr. Wellstar."

"Carl, please," he waved a hand dismissively. "I was very impressed with your work, Dean. And so was the customer who bought it. She promised to tell all her friends, and said she would definitely consider buying more of your paintings."

Dean smiled gratefully.

"I, um, don't really know what to say."

"Thank you will be enough," He grinned.

"Thank you very much."

Hilda came bustling in just then, a tray of mugs in her hands. She passed them out, earning three muttered 'thank yous' and sat down in her armchair.

Seamus grinned at Dean over his mug.

"I wish I was talented at something, so you could sit and be proud of me."

Dean giggled, "but you're so charming and funny, that if you had a hidden talent, it would just overbalance the world. Everyone would become obsessed with you."

Carl laughed heartily and Seamus rolled his eyes, "nice try."

"You must be Seamus. I've heard a lot about you from Hilda."

"That's me. Good to know Hilda's been talking about me."

"All good things, I assure you." Hilda told him with a smile.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you."

Conversation went on like this until they'd all finished their tea. Hilda stood up to take them to the sink, and Carl jumped up quickly.

"Here, let me do it."

Hilda gave him a warm smile and nodded. He winked at her before heading off with the tray in his arms. Dean gave Hilda a knowing look. She ignored him.

"So, have you two decided that you're together?"

Dean rolled his eyes at her abruptness.

"Very subtle, Hilda. And yes."

"I am not known for my subtlety," She told him with a grin. "That's nice, I was hoping so. You two are good for each other."

Dean couldn't help smiling affectionately at Hilda. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus doing the same thing, and just had to reach out for his hand.

By the time they'd left, Dean had had three cups of tea, listened to Hilda gush over their newly formed relationship, been clawed by Almond for trying to get up, loaded three paintings into Carl's car, and become completely convinced that there was something between Hilda and Carl.

When Hilda asked him and Seamus to come out to dinner with them the next night, his reply was,

"Like a double date?"

Hilda had smacked him lightly on the arm, and Seamus laughed.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So, I really like this chapter. Even though not much happens and there's way too much fluff. I couldn't resist the call, I'm sorry.

After this there's only one more chapter and then the epilogue. So close to the end!


	10. Enemy of Mine

**Disclaimer: **lyrics from Hurricane, by 30 Seconds To Mars._  
_

**Warning: **violence, character death.

* * *

_Tell me would you kill to save a life? _

**Chapter Nine**

Enemy of Mine

* * *

"That was fun."

"Maybe for you. I didn't bring any clothes with me nice enough for that place. I could feel all the posh people judging me."

"I told you, you could have borrowed some of mine."

"And I told you, I'm not going anywhere in clothes five sizes too big."

Dean chuckled and pulled his coat tighter around him. The air was frosty as they walked back from the restaurant, but Dean didn't mind much. Their entwined arms swung between them. It was almost a shame they were nearly home. Only almost though, it really was cold.

"Carl seemed to like you," Dean told Seamus.

"Yeah, better than you," he teased.

"That's okay, Hilda likes me better."

"Hey, that's not true!"

Dean laughed again. "It's okay, ickle Finnikins, I love you best."

Seamus just rolled his eyes. They walked the next few blocks in silence, listening to the sounds of the city at night. They reached the apartment and Dean had just managed to unlock and push the door open when Seamus spun him around and pulled him in for a kiss.

He laughed in surprise, but responded enthusiastically. A moment later he felt his back pushed against the doorframe and Seamus's mouth left his to wander down his jaw line. Another breathless laugh left him.

"Impatient are we?"

"Obviously."

Dean's body went rigid with shock, and Seamus stepped back off him so quickly he stumbled. They both stared, wide eyed, into the shadowy interior of his apartment, looking for the source of the voice. It hadn't been Seamus's who'd spoken, but Dean knew that voice almost as well as his. It haunted his nightmares.

After what seemed like hours in which both he and Seamus could have been killed many times over, Dean's eyes adjusted to the light.

He was standing in the darkest corner of the room, so his features were still cast in shadow, but Dean knew exactly who it was. His wand was out of his pocket and in his hand faster than he could blink, and his peripheral vision caught Seamus doing the same. He saw a thin, reedy smile appear on the ugly face through the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" He asked the man. No, the monster.

"Well, that's not very polite. How about 'Hi, how are you' or even 'I'm sorry you got thrown into Azkaban because of me.'"

"You deserved it," He told the man as he stepped into the light. Scabior looked shabbier than when he'd last seen him, his eyes sunken, haunted. Even more ruthless than before he'd been in prison.

Scabior reached into his pocket, taking out his wand and twirling it through his fingers as he took a few, slow steps forward. Not so much menacing as casual, as though Dean and Seamus posed no threat to him at all. Seamus stepped slightly in front of Dean in a protective gesture, and Scabior laughed. He raked his eyes over Seamus' form, smirking in a way that suggested he wasn't impressed by what he saw.

"This your boyfriend then?"

"He's nobody," Dean answered as he tried to push Seamus out of the way. This was his fight. Seamus was not getting hurt for him. Seamus refused to budge.

Scabior laughed again, "don't try to deny it. I saw you guys going at each other just seconds ago." He grinned and took another step forward, "a dirty mudblood _and_ a homo? I'm gonna enjoy killing the both of you."

Dean gritted his teeth, but Seamus put a hand on his chest. Though he didn't turn around, Dean understood what Seamus was trying to say. _He's baiting you, don't take it._

"I'm not sure if I'll get around to killing your filthy muggle friend though, that old lady. She's not really worth my time."

Dean hand clenched painfully around his wand, knuckles turning white. Scabior saw it.

"Ah, but I can see the idea upsets you. So maybe I will. Who knows, I might enjoy it, perhaps even as much as I enjoyed killing your family. Especially your lovely little sister."

He paused and grinned, eyes flashing. "Her pretty face looked quite nice spattered with blood."

That did it. Dean shoved his way past Seamus before he could even think, and shot curses at Scabior. Not schoolyard jinxes either, but hexes and curses with the sole purpose of causing extreme pain. Seamus joined in after a short moment of shock.

Scabior blocked a few and dodged the rest, laughing manically.

"You boys will have to do better than that!"

Seamus sent a stunning spell right at him, and Dean thought for a moment that it would hit, but Scabior dissipated it wordlessly a second before it did. He continued to cast wordless magic at them, evidently hoping that they would have a harder time blocking spells they couldn't identify. And they did, barely managing to dodge the ones they couldn't redirect or stop with a shield charm.

"Confringo!" Dean yelled, and Scabior's arm burst into flame. He quickly put it out, but not before a large burn was formed. He looked up from the angry welt and glared at Dean in rage.

With a twist of Scabior's hand an ugly purple jet of light came straight at Dean. It twisted and writhed in the air, and he was sure it would do something unspeakable horrible if it hit. His shield charm broke feebly as the curse crashed through it, and in that split second all he could see was the evil grin on Moran Scabior's face. He was absolutely sure he would die.

"DEAN!"

Seamus yelled something unintelligible, and then white light hit the purple beam, forcing it to rebound at Scabior. He didn't have time to react. His ugly smirk had only just changed into an expression of surprise when the spell hit him.

Purple light encased his body and he fell, writhing, to the ground. His anguished screams muffled by the bubble the spell was forming around him. Light flashed and rolled inside it and he twitched continuously, crying out with a broken voice. It seemed like hours that they watched, unable to see much past the bright purple light, and unsure if they wanted to.

When the bubble finally dissipated, they could see the damage it had done, and Seamus sucked in a breath through his teeth.

His frail, human body could never have withstood that spell. His skin hung off him in ragged patches and everything underneath seemed to have been burnt. Some even looked like it was boiling, flesh bubbling as though it was water. It looked like he'd been turned inside out and then put back together.

It was only a minute later that Dean registered that he was actually still alive. The torn mess of his chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths. He moved closer, listening to the wheezing of a dying man. He couldn't imagine the pain he was in now, and thanked every god he knew of that the spell had not hit him.

Tortured eyeballs rolled to face him, and they seemed almost pleading. Somehow, Dean could not bring himself to be glad that this had happened to the man. It was too horrible.

Seamus came up behind him and placed a hand on his back. He felt strength radiate through him for a moment. It was just enough for him to raise his wand towards the shrivelled thing before him.

"Avada kedavra," he whispered.

And just like that it was over. Moran Scabior was dead. He'd never hurt another person ever again.

Dean should have been happy. But he couldn't quite feel anything. He was emotionally drained. The best he could do was to lean back into Seamus's embrace, and close his eyes so he could no longer see the thing in front of him that had once been human.

He felt Seamus walking him backwards a few steps, until they both fell onto the bed. He opened his eyes for a moment to see Seamus brushing bits of his apartment off the bed around him. It seemed most of his belongings had been destroyed. He didn't much care.

That familiar darkness hovered around again, just out of his reach. But for the first time, Dean saw the shadows for what they truly were. Not an outside force trying to break him, but just part of himself, all the memories, all of his fears. He supposed it had been his way of punishing himself for failing his family, as he thought he had. But now he realised why he'd never really seen the darkness, only felt it. It wasn't really there.

With that realisation came the realisation that he hadn't really failed his family. It had been Scabior who was at fault. But he was gone now; he'd died the most painful death imaginable. He'd paid for it. It was over.

Dean curled up into Seamus's arms, and for the first time he felt he was able to push the dark away himself. It was not that Seamus's presence was doing it for him, or he was distracting himself so that it had no chance to take hold. He simply willed it away. And he was able to let images of his mother, step-father, Claire, his home float through his mind, and it didn't hurt.

"I love you, Dean." Seamus whispered over his shoulder, and then pressed his lips to the back of Dean's neck.

Dean thought of all Seamus had done for him, how he'd saved his life today, and knew it was true.

"I love you too."

_~fictum~_

Aurors wandered through his apartment, casting detection spells, looking in every corner of his apartment, piecing together the battle scene. It unnerved Dean, he felt like they were intruding on his life. They'd taken both of their wands for inspection, and Dean felt bare and defenceless without it.

Seamus had called Hilda as soon as he was sure the danger had passed, and she'd come straight over. She stood by Dean the whole time, a hand on his shoulder or arm, a comforting, motherly presence. He felt bad that she'd felt she had to come over so late at night, but he was glad too.

Scabior's body was still where it had fallen, separated from them by a thin sheet thrown carelessly over him, and a small magical barrier. The Aurors had politely told them not to move around too much, and though it annoyed him, Dean had been happy to oblige if it helped them finish faster. All he wanted was for them to take the body and go, but they'd insisted that they needed to survey the crime scene, at least to ensure that he and Seamus couldn't be charged with murder.

Eventually one of the Aurors came over to them.

"We're about finished, Mr. Thomas. We may need you to come in to the Ministry, to answer a few questions though."

"What? Why? I thought you'd figured I didn't do anything by looking at my wand."

"Yes, we've determined that you acted in self defence, as did Mr. Finnigan. It's more about the involvement of your muggle friend. No offense, ma'am. It's against our laws for non-magical citizens to know about our world."

"Are you kidding?" Seamus spat from behind Dean. "He's not going anywhere."

"I knew about the magical world long before I met Dean," Hilda said, trying to be diplomatic. "My uncle was a wizard."

"I see. What was his name?"

"Erik Palloman."

"Right. Well, it's an awkward situation, you see. Would you object to having your memory, uh, wiped shall we say."

Dean hissed through his teeth, but said nothing.

"Would that make me forget Dean and Seamus?"

"I'm not sure. Possibly, since it would be removing your memory of the knowledge of magic. It might erase some of your friendship with them."

Hilda nodded thoughtfully, Seamus's took his hand, and he could feel his hand shaking. He squeezed Seamus's fingers, trying to calm him a bit.

"Would it make me forget my uncle?"

The Auror looked down. "It's unlikely that it wouldn't."

"Then yes, I object."

"Okay, Mrs. Henigen, was it?"

"Yes."

"I'll need to ask you a few questions, to make sure your knowledge of magic isn't dangerous, you see."

"Fine," She said curtly.

"I'll need you to drink some veritaserum; it's essentially a truth potion. Is that okay?"

"Fine," Hilda said again. Another Auror brought a small phial over, and Hilda drank a few drops before The Auror had her sit down at the table, which they'd repaired earlier.

Seamus led Dean to sit down on the bed, ignoring their initial agreement that they wouldn't move. The investigation was pretty much over anyway. Seamus put an arm around Dean's shoulders, who leaned into him, and watched Hilda worriedly. How anyone could think of such a sweet person as a possible threat was beyond him.

Eventually both Hilda and the Auror stood up, and Dean walked over quickly.

"We've finished our investigation, and Mrs. Henigen poses no threat." The man looked almost as though he hated to admit that fact. "We'll take the body with us, and you should get a letter within the next few days, just to let you know if you need to come into court or for questioning. It's unlikely though. It seems as though you've done our job for us. Well done Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan."

Dean held the door open as the team filed through, and was immensely relived to be able to shut it after them.

_~fictum~_

It took a lot for Dean to accept the fact that he didn't have to be afraid anymore. It seemed to be his default setting. In the days following, he would still catch himself checking dark corners and becoming scared at any small sound. Seamus was there for him through it all though, carefully and gently reminding him that he was safe, and that he would never let anything hurt him.

Dean knew Seamus was probably just as traumatised as him, he was just better at hiding it. So he made an effort to pull himself together better, to be there for Seamus just as much as he was for him.

The nightmares slowly faded too. Images of Scabior left him, and he no-longer saw his family being murdered, or reaching out to him for the help he hadn't been able to give.

He still dreamt of his family, of course. It was inevitable. But they weren't nightmares any longer. They were bittersweet and full of fond memories, and though he still woke from them crying, he was glad he had them. He didn't want to forget his family, and dreams of them were proof that he hadn't yet.

And that was why, as he sat painting one quiet evening, he put down his brushes and turned to Seamus. Seamus was lying on the bed, flicking through television programs with the volume low, but sensed Dean looking at him, and stopped.

"You okay mate?"

"Yeah... I am."

"What's up?"

"I want to go home. To my old house, I mean."

It was a mark of how well they knew each other that Seamus didn't even blink. He just nodded his head as though he'd been expecting this statement from Dean.

"I reckon that's a good idea."

* * *

**Author's notes:** I hope you liked the last full chapter. After this there's just an epilogue to tie up a few loose ends. I'll hopefully finish editing it within the next two days, and post it then.

-Aislinn.


	11. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Lyrics from Fix You, by Coldplay._  
_

**Warning:** Major fluff. Sad fluff, if that's possible.

* * *

_Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you._

**Epilogue**

* * *

His house looked just the same as it always had. The small front garden was a bit unkempt, and there was an air of disuse, but it was the same. He could almost hear the laughter of a happy family drifting through the back of his mind. He stood outside the little white gate, one that would never really keep anyone out and was more for show than anything else, and took a deep breath. He clenched his hand around Seamus's for a moment, in preparation, then let go to slowly open the gate.

He'd insisted that he'd wanted to do this alone, and he supposed that was the only thing that had stopped Hilda coming as well, but Seamus had refused. He'd told Dean that he would wait outside the house all night if he had to, but Dean was not going to be alone. It was an exasperating, but ultimately comforting gesture.

He walked up the path and stopped on the front porch, his hand resting on the doorknob. It was cold, and turned with a slight screech, as though reluctant after months of neglect. Dean stopped again before opening the door, afraid again. With his hand still on the doorknob, he turned to look at Seamus over his shoulder. Seamus saw what he needed straight away, and hurried over to stand behind him, one hand resting on his hip.

"You can do this, mate."

Dean took a moment to replay the words in his head, breathing evenly, before opening the door and stepping inside. Seamus followed slowly. Dean walked carefully down the hallway, silent, as though making a noise would disturb the memories of his family. Perhaps it would. Or perhaps there was simply no need for words right then.

Seamus made to stop by the door, obviously intending to give Dean some space, but Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind him.

They reached the family room, still left exactly how it had been when they'd lived there, apart from the thin coating of dust. There were even some movies lying out where they hadn't yet been put away.

Though Dean had made the decision to come back to his house, he wasn't quite ready to look at all the photos propped up around this room. He walked hastily around the corner to the stairs, letting go of Seamus' hand when he didn't walk quick enough. When he looked back, Seamus was looking at where he knew some pictures hung on the walls, a sad smile on his face. His heart clenched a little as he remembered the photos there.

One of his mother and step-father together, happy, in love. One of Claire and himself, her five-year-old face laughing adorably as his ten-year-old self tickled her. The last was of the family together, sitting formally for the photo, all smiles. If you looked closely enough, you could see the way his parents held hands behind his body, and the way Claire poked him when she thought no-one could see.

Dean had to look away from Seamus then, tears threatening to spill over as he saw that Seamus' eyes were already watering. He made his way quietly up the stairs, and it was a few moments before he heard footsteps following.

He stood outside his parent's bedroom carefully not crossing the border into their room. He wasn't sure why, but he felt it was disrespectful somehow. When he felt Seamus come up behind him, he sighed and turned around.

"Come on," He whispered, taking Seamus' hand.

He led them past Claire's bedroom, not trusting himself to look in without breaking down. Eventually he opened the door to his.

His room also had the ever present layer of dust. The walls were less blue than he remembered, but perhaps that was the dust as well, murking their colour a bit. He ran a hand over the desk as he moved towards the bed, leaving a trail of finger marks, almost like leaving scratches in the empty feel of the place. He lowered himself onto the bed, pulling Seamus with him and ignoring the musky smell. It felt familiar, and he closed his eyes gladly, gathering Seamus to his chest and nestling his head on his shoulder.

_~fictum~_

They must have only slept for an hour or two, or maybe he hadn't slept at all, and had just been lost in his memories. But when Dean woke up the sun had only moved a few inches in the sky. He rubbed Seamus' shoulder in a soothing pattern, comforting himself more than anything. Having Seamus with him helped ease the ache in his throat. He pressed his lips gently to the back of Seamus' neck, then shoulder, until he stirred and turned to face him.

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Seamus pressed their lips together gently. Dean let himself relax into the soft kiss. It wasn't passionate, but close-mouthed and simple. Full of more affection than any heated kiss they'd shared.

"That's good."

Dean kissed him again.

"I love you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Forever?" Seamus' voice was full of hope, love and a little uncertainty. Dean smiled and pressed their foreheads together gently.

"If you wanted it, I would go to your father right now, and ask his permission to marry you."

Seamus breathed in sharply, and pulled away to stare into his eyes. Dean knew he was looking for any trace of doubt, any hint of a joke. So he stared right back, letting Seamus see how serious he was, how much he loved him.

"You know he wouldn't give it," Seamus whispered.

Dean's heart ached for the mixed sadness and bitter-sweet joy in Seamus' bright eyes, and he couldn't stop himself from kissing him again.

"I'll ask him anyway."

"You truly want this?"

Dean looked right in Seamus's eyes.

"I love you. I will as long as I live and maybe longer if there's anything after death. And after everything that's happened, I refuse to believe that there isn't. One day I'll see my family again, and I'll keep loving you, no matter what."

Dean realised after a moment that there were tears spilling from his eyes. It didn't take much longer to realise that Seamus was crying too. Seamus leaned forward and touched his cheeks with his lips, wiping away the tears with kisses.

"You know, I'm fairly sure me mam would give you permission."

Dean grinned, and it felt like he would never stop. He pulled Seamus tight against him, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' to his family that he had Seamus, that they'd sent Seamus to save him. He knew they were watching over him, and that was worth every happy tear he cried.

He wasn't sure whether he was just delusional, but a quiet voice seemed to answer him a moment later.

"You're welcome," whispered Claire.

* * *

**Author's notes: **And so we come to the end of my first ever multi chaptered fic! I'm so glad I've finished it. I've been working on this for months, and I had a few major bouts of writers block along the way, but here it is. Completed at last.

I just want to say thank you to anyone who reviewed or favourited, I love you. And to anyone who ever has or ever might read this, thank you so much. To all the Deamus shippers out there, we are few, but our ship is amazing. Never forget it.

Thank you for reading, and goodbye. -Aislinn.


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